MI 
INGALI 


5&v    & 


GERTRUDE 


r 


MISS  INGALIS 


>    . 


'Grace,  there  has  been  something  I  have  been  wanting 

to  ask  you" 


MISS  INGALIS 


BY 

GERTRUDE  HALL 

Author  of  "Aurora  the  Magnificent,"  "The 
Truth  About  Camilla,"  etc. 


$&***rff€*& 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1918 


fright,  1918,  by 

Til  TTRY    CO. 


Published,  October,   1'J18 


A    EMMA 
EN  SOUVENIR 

DE  NOS  MILLE  SOUVENIRS 


MISS  INGALIS 


•  '  '  -    . 


MISS  INGALIS 


CHAPTER  I 

HE  had  called  at  her  house  before,  one  night  of 
snow.  The  woman  in  black  who  came  to  the 
door — visibly  not  a  servant — had  told  him 
Miss  Ingalis  was  absent.  She  had  made  way  for 
him  to  enter,  so  that  she  might  shut  out  the  cold, 
and  in  the  hallway  had  imparted  the  further  knowl- 
edge that  her  sister  was  in  the  West  Indies;  she  had 
gone  the  first  of  February  and  was  not  expected 
home  until  the  second  week  in  March. 

"A  friend,  passing  through  the  city  on  her  way 
down  there,"  she  said,  "picked  up  Grace  at  an  hour's 
notice  and  took  her  along." 

He  had  not  known  he  could  feel  so  dejected  by  not 
getting  a  sight  of  her  at  the  end  of  that  first  pil- 
grimage to  her  dwelling.  Tightening  his  overcoat  to 
breast  the  icy  wind,  he  had  laid  balm  to  himself  by 
picturing  her  amid  sunshine  and  warmth,  palm-trees, 
pomegranates,  hibiscus.  He  praised  the  friend  who 
had  had  eyes  to  see  that  she  was  paler  than  she 
should  be, — thinner,  too,  though  that  aerial  thinness 
was  so  charming, — and  had  whisked  her  away  for  a 
holiday. 

3 


4  MISS  INGALIS 

She  continued  to  haunt  his  thoughts,  as  she  I 
done  for  -         months.     Be  ento         what  might  I"' 
died  tlie  fourth  period  of  his  Bentiment   with  re- 
gard to  her. 

The  Bn  curious  to  remember.     Be  had  wished 

to  know  who  was  guilty  of  certain  remarkably  poor 
mens  appearing  ou  th<        eeu  at  every  conto 
the  com]         id  class  in  company  with  hifl  own 
i    and    many    more    --riving   evident 
tell  in  .  of  power  and  promise.    She  had 

"ii  point--. 1  out  to  him.  and  he  had  wondered  what 
made  her  try  to  be  an  arti  Be  had  not  thought 
hei 
Bia  in;  ■  had  been  awakened  in  time  I  oiser- 
ile  Little  pastel  that  he  found  pinned  near  his  own 
illustration  of  '*!'  ty.'  Amid  thirty  picture*  set- 
ting forth  ■  them,  the  sordid  hoi 

children,  -d   beggars,  want, 

filth,— there  had  shon<        tfa  faintly  just  one  of  a 
different    inspiration:   hers,   badly   drawn   as  usual. 

'..  showing  the  pun        i  «rIorious  bride 
9    ■  •   Francis.    Something  within  him  had  bowed 

and  done  hoi: 

Be  had  looked  at  her  more  attentively,  and  entered 
the  >nd  period.  One  can  be  an  execrable  painter, 
y.-t  an  ex. |  ii. 

S  •'  loo  e  might  ha  d  through  some 

•  -  irrow  and  were  still  sad.  though  trying  not  to 

let  it  be  seen.     She  wore  mourning  for  her  father. 


MISS  INGALIS  5 

He  believed  her  to  be  poor,  like  himself.  That  she 
was  delicately  bred  was  more  than  evident.  Poverty 
was  perhaps  new  to  her,  and  the  pursuit  of  art  her 
innocent  conception  of  going  to  work. 

She  ceased  coming  to  the  art  school  soon  after,  and 
he  saw  her  no  more  until  one  of  the  richer  students 
held  at  her  house  a  reunion  of  her  fellow  students. 
To  this  she  also  came,  still  in  black,  but  a  black  less 
funereal;  and  he  hardly  left  her  side  during  the 
whole  evening.  They  talked  of  their  favorite  authors. 
In  answer  to  his  prayer  at  parting  for  permission  to 
call  on  her,  she  told  him  where  she  lived.  There  be- 
gan the  third  period. 

And  now  the  middle  of  March  had  come,  when  she 
must  be  home  again.  He  could  not  disguise  from 
himself  a  certain  emotion  as  he  set  forth  a  second 
time  for  her  house. 

His  little  mother  asked  him  where  he  was  going, 
and  he  satisfied  her  curiosity  as  kindly  as  he  could 
without  telling  her  anything.  But  he  kissed  her  with 
real  fondness.  She  had  been  so  good  to  him ;  his  debt 
was  always  present  to  his  mind.  To  afford  him  the 
education  that  was  to  make  possible  his  rise  in  the 
world,  she  had  taken  lodgers.  For  years.  While  he 
mixed  paints  on  a  palette,  she  cared  for  the  rooms  of 
untidy  bachelors  and  exacting  old  maids.  He  was  de- 
termined to  repay  her.  That  the  pearl  of  girls  stood 
on  a  spiritual  eminence  which  enabled  her  to  see 
poverty  as  sacred,  that  she  could  never  feel  scorn  for 


(i  MISS   CNGALIS 

the  poor  Little  hard-worked  widow,  his  mother,  en- 
hanced her  preciou8nes8,  her  fitness  in  his  <  1  t*«  a m ^. 
still  misty  though  these  were. 

And  bo  he  came  to  her  house,  a  small  house  in  an 
unfashionable    neighborhood    once    in    better    social 
mding.     Again  the  older  r  opened   the  door, 

—  much  older  Bister,  1m-  thought:  by  the  ring 

on  her  finger,  married.     He  could  nol  perceive  that 
->.-(!    ..i  ,uii    of    the    younger    sister's 

charm. 

"Yi  be  is  back,1  he  heard  with  relief.  "Won't 
you  come  into  the  parlor!  I  will  tell  her.  Bur. 
Andreas  Dai        l  remember  perfectly . " 

She   opened    the    door    into    an    unlighted    room. 
While  she  fell  for  tin-  matches  and  while  he  waited, 
ime  aware  of  an  odor  like  thai  in  a  florist 

and  carnations. 
ie  sprang   into   being,   the   room    into 
sight,  ;m<l  h  -  fell  apon  what  thej  should  ha 

en  prepared  for— a  vase  full  of  burning  crimson 

and  another  vase  full  <»f  white  clove-pin] 
Beii  done,  he  looked  around  him  like  one 

ned  T"  seeking  among  things  for  indicatioi 
character.     Here  were  the  furnishings,  unmistak- 
ably, of  | j. I--  of  refinement,  but — he  noted  it  with 

a  kind  of  comfort— the  carpel  was  old,  like  the 
carpets  he  was  used  to.  the  upholstery  needed  renovat- 
ing. A  folding-door  permitted  a  partial  view  of  the 
baek  room,  by  evei  I  ody. 


MISS  INGALIS  7 

He  gave  a  moment's  attention  to  the  pictures  on 
the  wall,  witnesses  of  a  scholarly  taste ;  but  from 
each  excursion  the  odor  of  the  roses  called  him  back 
and  became  the  cause  of  a  curious  uneasiness,  an  op- 
pression, not  often  created  by  a  fragrance  so  whole- 
some and  so  sweet.  It  troubled  him,  like  a  suspicion, 
a  presentiment. 

He  stood  by  the  mantel,  alert  for  her  coming,  and 
had  time  while  waiting  to  feel  awkward  and  over- 
large,  coarse  of  hand  and  foot,  ugly. 

He  half  turned  for  a  glance  at  himself  in  the 
mirror.  He  was,  in  truth,  rather  ugly;  but  it  was 
a  nice  ugliness,  a  cleanly,  manly,  endearing  ugliness, 
which  he  could  not  be  expected  to  appreciate.  He 
looked  thoughtful;  he  looked  modest;  he  looked  kind. 
And  if  his  face  did  not  at  once  give  the  measure  of 
his  fine  capacity,  his  talents  would  the  more  be  a 
happy  discovery  to  any  person  going  deeper  than 
the  surface.  Just  now,  however,  he  was  humiliated 
by  the  sight  of  his  reflection.  And  he  was  not  given 
to  caring  about  his  looks.  It  was  the  fault  of  those 
too  large,  too  redolent,  too  rich  roses. 

Then  he  heard  her  footstep  on  the  stair,  and  the 
mental  image  of  her  descending  to  him  supplanted 
every  other.  He  could  see  her  in  anticipation  with 
great  clearness — her  adorable  slimness,  like  a  flower- 
stem's;  her  little  head,  with  the  careless  coils  and 
blowing  wisps  of  young  girls  who  frequent  art  schools ; 
the  dainty  pallor  of  her  face  above  the  black  dress; 


8  MISS   [NGALIS 

the  languor  of  her  smile  when  she  to  that         at  over- 
came her  melancholy.  .  .  . 

• 

She  Btood  in  tli«-  doorway,  and  all  his  other  feelii 
were  merged  in  Burpriae.    She  was  aol  the  same  per- 
il.   To  begin  with,  she  had  Bhed  the  mourning  to 
which  he  had  grown  accustomed.    She  was  dressed  in 
sil  >•,  enriched  by  costly  laces;  her  liair 

had  a  look  of  pretty  formality  and  fashion.     And  she 
had  discarded  aadn<  Bhe  had  niourninir. 

She  brought  into  the  room  an  addition  of  perfume. 
On   her  bi  lay   violets  in   a  thick  knot  -viol< 

thai  made  one  jealous.     B<  fell  his  courage  forsaking 
him. 

Bui  after  a  few  minul  talk  he  regained  some- 
thing of  her  reality  and  became  a  litt!  irecL 
Ber  smile  had  a  I  riah  brightness,  but  her 
were  unchanged  s  that  had  oothing  about 
them  of  Spanish  or  Oriental  -  with  a  characteri 
tic  look  <'t"  spiritual  curiosity,  a  deep-G  1,  half- 
troubled  preoccupation  with  spiritual  values  lie 
frit  at  home  with  them,  and  presently  began  again 
•    ■ 

she  led  the  way  into  the  neighboring  room,  which 

Dtained   a  literary  workman's  large  writing-desk, 

only  it  w .         Id  and  orderly,  as  it  could  not  have 

been  for  one  moment  during  his  life,    she  lighted 

the    drop-lamp,    and    with    her    new    animation    made 

her  visitor  adi         the  curiosities  she   had   brought 

back  from  the  islands — baskets,  pottery,  corals,  shells. 


MISS  INGALIS 


"It  has  been  too,  too  wonderful!'  she  said.  "I 
can  hardly  believe  it  yet." 

She  pressed  a  hand  to  her  forehead,  as  if  to  get  a 
firmer  hold  on  her  thoughts  and  make  sure  she  was 
not  taking  dreams  for  waking. 

"I  came  home  from  my  work  one  afternoon — I 
must  have  told  you  that  after  giving  up  the  art  school 
I  was  learning  the  kindergarten  method,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  teach — I  came  home  and  found  a  friend  I  had 
not  seen  for  several  years,  Mrs.  Lamont,  waiting  for 
me  here.  She  had  married,  and  was  taking  her  hus- 
band— he  is  a  retired  army  officer — on  a  sea  voyage 
to  make  him  well  of  a  cold  that  worried  her. 

1 '  She  is  such  a  dear,  Ida  Lamont ! ' '  she  interpolated 
enthusiastically.  "Except  for  liking  each  other  so 
much,  you  might  say  our  acquaintance  was  very  slight 
before  this  trip  together.  We  had  met  at  a  hotel 
in  the  mountains  where  we  only  spent  two  weeks — 
my  father  and  I.  But  she  had  said  that  if  ever  she 
came  to  this  city  she  would  look  us  up.  And  she  did. 
As  soon  as  she  saw  me,  she  decided  I  must  go  with 
them.  And,  mind  you,  it  was  almost  a  honeymoon 
she  was  going  on.  Yet  she  wanted  to  take  me  along. 
Don't  you  call  it  noble  of  her? 

"I  hadn't  time  for  anything;  she  didn't  give  me 
time  to  think.  We  started  that  same  evening  for 
New  York,  and  next  day  we  sailed.  In  a  blizzard.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  mean  ferocity  of  the  weather 
that    day.     Then    gradually,    gradually,    it    became 


10  MISS   [N6ALIS 

quieter,    milder,    warmer,   brighter.    One   after   an- 
other,  we  dropped   OUT   winter   wraps.      And   then    it 

was  all  blueness  and  wonder.     We  came  in  Bight  of 

land,  and  it  was  tropical — banana-trees  and  palnis  and 

sii.       ane  plantation-,  with  little  gray  cabinfl  along 

..." 

"1  am  glad  for  you — to  have  escaped  our  disagree- 
able February,'  he  said,  with  ■  dry  throat.  "In  a 
few  days  -prim:  will  begin 

It  ha-  been  like  a  fairy  story,  a  transformation 

."  b]  tinned.    "  Almod  before  we  w<       >nt 

of  the  harbor,  Mis.  Lamont  said  she  could  not  bear  to 

me  in  black,  and  made  me  give  up  mourning,    she 

had  her  maul  take  in  oi  '    iwn  dres         i  lit  me. 

This  that  1  q  iBoneofhers.     Did  you  ever  hear 

b   e/i'D'T 

His  breast  f  if  a  physical  weight  had 

en  lifted  from  it.     Be  found  a  ready  tongue  again. 
They  talked  tor  a  while  of  travel  and  tropics.    Tien 
Bhe  wished  to  hear  about  his  fortunes,  and  showed  a 
kind  gladi        it  the  news  of  p         -  and  frontispiee 
he  had  been  commissioned  to  supply. 

"Isn't  it  singular/1  she  said,  "how  one  can  never 
tell  what   is  round   the  corner  1     A    reason  why  we 

OUght    never    to    despair.      On    Saturday    yon    may    be 

trudging  with  half-frozen  feet  to  work  you  hate,  be- 
cause  it  \s  so  uncongenial,  and  Saturday  of  the  week 

after  may  find  you  on  an  enchanted  island  where  the 
maddest  fair\  series  and  romances  come  to  pa 


MISS  INGALIS  11 

He  became  uneasy  again,  because  her  glance,  fixed 
actually  on  the  worn  carpet,  rested  with  a  brooding 
air,  a  happy  wonder,  on  scenes  that  he  could  not 
guess  at.  While  she  was  thus  occupied  with  visions 
of  Caribbean  seas  and  skies,  one  of  her  hands  played 
with  a  ring  on  the  other  hand,  a  ring  sparkling  with 
newness. 

Could  Mrs.  Lamont  be  the  donor  of  that  too? 

It  formed  a  rather  startling  ornament  for  the 
slender,  brownish  hand  whose  mate — as  he  had  had 
occasion  to  remark — handled  the  pencil  so  nervelessly ; 
it  shared  some  quality  with  the  massed  roses  and 
acutely  odorous  pinks.  It  was  composed  of  one  great 
drop  of  ruby  fire  and  a  diamond  imprisoning  one  great 
drop  of  quintessential  light.  The  sight  of  it  produced 
a  return  of  his  faint  sickness  of  soul. 

"And  now?"  he  forced  himself  to  speak.  "Do  you 
think  of  going  back  to  the  work  you  left — the  kinder- 
garten?" 

She  smiled  as  she  very  softly  shook  her  head  in  the 
negative.  He  was  made  to  wait  a  moment  before 
anything  was  added  to  that  answer. 

"No." 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  thought  he  ought  to  be 
able  to  guess  the  reason;  and,  after  a  little  pause 
that  gave  him  time  to  do  so,  said  that  which,  ever 
since  his  first  sight  of  those  insolent  roses,  he  had 
been  fearing  to  hear: 

"I  am  going  to  be  married." 


12  MISS   [NG  HAS 

The  words  he  uttered  right  after  this  were  so  me- 
chanica]  that  he  did  not  know  what  they  were.  They 
drew  forth,  however,  a  little  amplification  on  her  pari : 

,-It  is  a  oame  you  must  often  have  heard— or,  if 
not  heard,  Been.    ( Overcome. 

I    !i   yon    mean — Overcome    Brothei        The   big 
men  's-clothin^  house 

"  Tea,     It  is  the  youngest  of  the  brothi       I  hirer 
II<-  \\a>  a  fellow  ;  r  on  board  the  Pretoria,  an 

[uaintance  of  Mrs.  Lamont  'a." 

She  looked  musingly  al  her  ring,  and  again  smiled. 

"Almost  funny,  isn't  it',  by  any  chance,  be 

this  I  thought  of  the  possibility  of  marrying,  I 
supposed,  oi  it  would  be  somebody  lit-         or 

ar     •     —or    a    pr  ;      •'••ssional 

.u.     It  a   fairy 

ry.     a  fairy  prince  wouldn't  have  to  be  artistic 

essional,  would  he9'    sh<  I  with   merry 

frankness. 

Andreas  D        did  riot  shorten  his  call  because  he 
is  in  pain.     ll>  did  not  find         ything  changed  by 
the  fad  that  this  young  girl  was   promised  to  an- 
other.   Something  of  her,  he  p<  1  in  believing 
belonged  to  him  through  the  affinity  he  had  been 
sure  of.     I  I*i*  brown  ■         in  uo  wise  ahul  him  out, 
though  their  new  radiance  was  due  to  circumstance 
which,  after  thi         ming,  would  banish  him.    Th 

Were  and    friendly.      Were   they   also   a    little 


MISS  INGALIS  13 

pitying?  .  .  .  Since  she  was  no  longer  a  damsel]  in 
the  position  of  being  tried  and,  if  found  satisfactory, 
honored  with  the  offer  of  one's  name,  but  a  poignantly 
lovely  and  desirable  woman  forever  out  of  reach,  his 
heart  jumped  to  a  quick  knowledge  of  itself,  and  he 
remained  as  late  as  possible,  to  get  what  pleasure  he 
could  from  being  near  her  gentle  beauty,  and  to  carry 
away  the  more  to  remember. 

He  had  not  come  with  the  definite  idea  of  looking 
for  his  happiness,  or  with  the  certitude  that  it  lay 
there:  but  he  went  out  into  the  March  night — and, 
as  far  as  he  knew,  out  of  her  life — with  the  gloomy 
distaste  for  existence  of  one  who  feels  no  doubt  of 
having  lost  Paradise. 


I  BAPTEB   II 

A^        climbed  the  stairs  after  the  departure  of 
her  caller,  Gi  ilia  was  carefu]  to  make 

do  hois       W'nh  velvet   tread  Bhe  ;         I  the 
black  Lr;i|»  <>f  a  half  open  door  on  the  second-floor  land 
iri'_r    Mi         fully,  she  hoped.     Bui  when  she  turned 
cut  t)i.-  Bpark  of  hiit  had  been  left  burning  in 

tli*-  hall,  a  woman's  \'  ••  in  the  dark  above 

husband  a  mi.  re. 

"  Your  young  ma:  sJ  later  than  i- 

decent,   it   seems   to  me.    Couldn't   you   have   sent 
him  home  earlier f ' 
No  reply. 

"Ha vi   yon  locked  up?" 
,4Y<         :r.  I  have 

'"  I  > i « 1  you  put  up  the  chain  ?" 

"Yea,  dear,  I  did." 

•And   turn   out    the   1:. 

"Yea.    Good  night,  Lydiadear.     Pleasant  dreams 
When  she  reached  her  bedroom  on  thi        >r  aboi 
Grace  had  already  forgotten  the  annoyance  of  that 
questioning.     II. r  thoughts  followed  Andreas  Dane. 
She  had  become  conscious,  before  the  end.  of  some 
smothered  suffering  at  her  side.    Though  wondering 

and  half  doubting,  she  had  laid  it  to  the  right  caus.  . 

14 


MISS  INGALIS  15 

Thinking  it  over,  she  said  to  herself  that  she  was 
sorry  for  him,  and  sent  after  him  a  great  heartful  of 
good  will.  At  the  same  time  she  warmed  with  pride. 
She  felt  her  value  increased  by  his  estimate  of  it, 
her  pleasure  in  this  resting  mainly  on  the  fact  that 
it  gave  her  more  to  bestow  on  another  man. 

It  was  difficult  to  recall  how  she  had  regarded 
Andreas  before.  She  tried,  and  was  surprised  anew 
to  find  how  everything  belonging  to  the  time  preced- 
ing the  first  of  February — only  six  weeks  ago ! — 
seemed  part  of  another  existence.  But  she  knew  well 
enough  that  she  had  shared  the  general  admiration 
of  the  girls'  portion  of  the  art  school  for  the  young 
fellow  whose  work  made  that  of  every  other  look 
weak  in  execution  and  trivial  of  fancy.  She  had  been 
flattered  by  his  assiduity  on  the  evening  they  had 
spent  so  largely  in  a  corner  together,  talking  of  Keats 
and  Shelley. 

Instead  of  being  sleepy,  as  the  hour  warranted,  she 
was  keenly  awake,  too  greatly  excited  to  care  about 
going  to  bed  for  a  long  time  yet.  This  was  well, 
since  she  had  a  happy  task  to  perform. 

She  sat  down  at  the  cluttered  table  under  the  gas- 
globe  and,  with  bright  eyes  fixed  on  her  imaginings, 
nibbled  the  end  of  a  pen-holder.     Then  she  wrote : 

"I  promised  to  write  you  this  evening,  but  it  is  al- 
most to-morrow.  Are  you  still  at  your  Athletic 
Club,  I  wonder?    Very  likely.    But  if  you  are  smok- 


16  BUSS  LNGALIS 

ing  and  talki nir  with  brawny  athletes,  and  not  think- 
i tilt  one  Lit  of  me,  it  a  Dot  fair,  for  1  am  sitting  up 
into  th-      ■    dl  hours,  thinking  of  V00  and  writing  to 

prove  it. 

'Do  you  know,  I  almost  think  it  a  good  thing  that 
there  should  be  eveningB  when  you  are   unable  to 
>me  and  I  must  write  you.  I.  •  there  are  this 

I  rir\  .  when  vmi  are  1.        i  ef  1  want  von 

»  *  •  * 

to  km>\v  thrin.  When  w<  together  we  do  nothing 
but  fool — which,  n  sir,  is  wholly  your  fault     A 

10  as  you   J   iv. •  I    think  of  things   I   had   meant 

ind  that  aeeii  i  put  out  of  my  mind.    No, 

that,  either;  I  don't  know  what  it  is.     1  can't 

D    th.  you,    and    \  «'t     I    want    von    to 

know  them  Thej  things  you  ought  to  be  glad  to 
know,  it  seems  to  me,  and  writing  gives  me  the 
chan< 

"l  had  a  caller  this         ing;  that  is  what  makes  it 
l*  ••'  ss  :  I  had  doI  dnce  before 

I  knew  you;  and  I  a  I  I  dearly  the  feeling  of 

the  past,  '  my  life  to  which  you  did  not  b 

Long.  Clare,  I  could  almost  feel  sorry  for  myself 
when  I  Look  back  at  the  gray,  terrible  da;         the  L 

ar  and  a  hal  Ida  came  on  th  the 

days  between  my  dear  father's  death  and  my  Bailing 

away    on    the    ship    that    carried    OS    both.      Happily, 

they  have  come  to  seem  far.  far  away;  an  eternity 
divides  me  from  them.     But  this  evening,  as  I  v. 
saying,  brought  them  back. 


MISS  INGALIS  17 

' ' There  are  things  you  can  never  know,  Clare.  One 
of  them  is  what  it  feels  like  to  be  faced  with  the  prob- 
lem of  earning  a  living,  and  discovering  that  you  are 
too  stupid  to  do  it  in  any  of  the  ways  that  could  con- 
tain a  little  satisfaction,  a  little  zest,  anything  but 
hateful  drudgery. 

"I  am  afraid  poor  Papa  spoiled  me.  I  grew  up 
thinking  quite  well  of  myself;  I  supposed  I  had 
talents.  So  I  tried  to  write ;  I  tried  music ;  I  even 
tried  to  paint — to  have  it  finally  impressed  upon  me 
that  no  one  would  ever  want  any  of  it.  Then  I 
buckled  down  to  what  was  real  work,  within  the  com- 
monest capacity — teaching  small  children.  And  the 
dreariness  of  it,  Clare,  I  can  never  describe.  Perhaps 
I  should  have  grown  to  like  it.  They  say  that  doing 
your  duty  brings  its  reward,  and  I  believe  it.  But  I 
was  dreadfully  far  from  that  point. 

"What  I  am  telling  you  all  this  for,  dear  Clare,  is 
not  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  difference  you  have 
made,  but  to  say  that  I  look  back  upon  the  person  I 
was  then,  who  dragged  through  the  work  of  the  day, 
' unhappy  like  the  stones,'  as  they  say  in  French, 
with  surprise  and  scorn.  I  can't  place  myself  back 
in  her  shoes  and  understand  how  she  could  be  such  a 
coward.  That,  you  see,  is  the  great  difference. 
Now  I  could  stand  all  I  had  to  stand  then  and  still 
keep  a  song  in  my  heart.  If  it  were  part  of  my 
great  task  of  trying  to  make  you  happy,  would  I  not 
with  a  cheerful  smile   teach  kindergarten  ?     Or  do 


IS  IOSS   1NGALIS 

anything  else — fix  your  dinner  for  ymi  in  a  tin  pail. 

fur  example,  or  help  you  to  weed  the  potato-patch.1 

She  paused    in   her  Writing,  and  with  shining 

w.-nt  through  these  devoted  performances  in  miasma 
tion,  and  in  imagination  received  full  thanks. 

It    W88     COld  at    the   top  .if   the   QOUS<         The    furii.. 

wa         managed  a-  to  hum  economically  during  the 
oight;  even  by  day  ili<-  heal  rather  1' 
fore  rising  bo  high.    The  window-frames  were  shak- 
ing in   the  wind.    Grace  trembled,   in  spite  of  the 

shawl    wrapp'  OUnd    ln-r.      But    this    did    not    d 

n   her  1'  in  which  she  v.  n 

stent,  Since  writing  a  lei  my  tin.-  is  h-s>  work 

than    weedii  -patch.    Presently    si 

BUm(  d  : 

<  >ur  whole  w>;  □  f'T  me  the  aspect  of  a 

tnbol.     I )(»  yon  r  Bpitefulni  —  of 

r    <>n    the    day    w  -•    Bailed  I      It    was    wirr 

like  that  all  through  i  ben  came  the  wanner  and 

warmer  gold-and-blue  daj       I  opened  my  heart,  just 

!  did  my  t ravrlii)'_,-<,l<,ak.  to  let  it  in.     I  had  never 
Uy  been  aliv<  I  had  not  imagined,  when  I 

tried    n..  \    that    life   could    he   like 

that,  so  miraculous — oi  tiny  so  unforeseen  and 

miraculous,— you,  Clar  miraculous!    The  wl 

difference  was  like  the  difference  1  n  the  storm 

we   Left    port    in   and   the  heavenly   atmosphere   we 


MISS  INGALIS  19 

found  in  Saint  Thomas.  It  all  entered  my  soul 
and  saturated  me;  so  that  when,  on  the  way  back,  it 
grew  colder  and  colder  again,  I  found  it  only  delight- 
ful, bracing,  tonic.  I  carried  my  climate  within  me, 
you  see." 

She  finished  with  the  happy  assurance  that  he  would 
care  to  read  these  things,  though  she  would  not  have 
been  permitted  to  say  them,  being  strictly  denied  the 
role  of  debtor  or  flatterer  or  sentimentalist.  He 
would  care  to  read  them  because  the  expression  of 
her  sense  of  what  she  owed  to  him  was,  after  all, 
nothing  more  than  an  expression  of  love. 

If  writing  a  letter  in  the  cold,  late  hours  is  less 
laborious  than  weeding  a  potato-patch,  the  merit  of 
going  out  to  post  it  after  one  o'clock  in  the  morning 
should  count  equal  at  least  to  picking  off  the  cater- 
pillars. Grace  stole  past  her  sister's  door  like  a 
mouse.  The  manly  breathing  proceeding  from  it 
covered  an  unavoidable  creaking  of  the  stairs.  She 
let  down  the  door-chain  without  a  clank,  made  the 
key  turn  without  grating,  and,  leaving  the  door  on 
the  latch,  flitted  like  a  shadow  to  the  letter-box  at 
the  corner  lamp-post. 

Grace  paused  in  her  undressing  to  think  of  her 
father.  She  took  a  photograph  from  its  place  at  the 
head  of  her  bed,  and,  gazing  at  it,  tried  earnestly  to 
commune  with  him.     The  imaged  face  had  the  peer- 


MISS   INGALIS 

inLr,  pu/.zlr.l  Look  of  a  man  who  wants  immensely  and 
vainly  to  understand  this  world,  more  enigmatical  to 

him  than  to  stupider  people;  B   man  justly  and 

onahly  maddened,  beneath  his  habil  of  regardful 
Dtlene8s,  by  the  inconsequence  of  people  and  the 
contumacy  of  thini  The  face  had  a  critical,  quar- 
relsome air,  an  air  of  pugnacity,  checked  and  mad*' 
I  by  tl  'ntinual  self  admonishment, 
"What  ifl  tin*  g  They  know  no  better.1 

Bui  ■  taw  in  it  chiefly  affection.    So  dose  a 

tic  1  ted  between  her  and  her  father  thai  she 

was  n-".   r       Qg  to  lei  it  !»•>  loosened,  never  lei  him 

any  '  part  of  her  daily  life.      As  fthi  ed 

she  tried  to  think  of  him,  in  the  unimaginable  cir- 
cumstai  hk   |  i  ejoicing  o\ 

the  good  fortune  that  had  come  to  her.    She  even 
thoughl  that  her  happiness  mighl  in  some  way  he  due 

to    I 

In  the  forenoon  there  came,  brought  by  hand,  an 
answer  to  her  Left        It  is  perhapfl  nol  n<         ry  to 
.  thai  Grace  had  seen  her  fiance*  on  the  morning 

tlir  day  fi  him  on  tip-  eveni] 

fif  tl  day;  hut  we  utilize  the  occasion  to  men- 

tion that   tins  exchange  <>f  letters  took   place  at   a 
time  when  the  telephone  was  not  y.-t  in  common  use. 

I.  till  wr   •  ich  nth. -p. 

With  a  joyful  throb,  she  unfolded   the  lar*,,"'  Bhi 


MISS  INGALIS  21 

of  office  paper,  half  covered  with  his  bold,  clear  hand- 
writing, and  read: 

"Eight  you  were.  I  was  still  at  the  Athletic  Club 
while  you  were  writing,  O  accomplished  in  the  art. 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  we  smoked  too  much, 
drank  too  much,  and  talked  too  much.  I  am  not 
answering  your  letter,  much  too  good  for  a  plain  man. 
I  pass  it  all  over  till  it  comes  to  the  passage  where 
you  speak  of  trying  to  make  me  happy.  Persevere, 
0  Amiable  One,  in  that  laudable  ambition,  and  you 
may,  with  diligence,  succeed.  I  have  my  dark 
projects,  too,  in  that  line. 

"But  to  turn  from  these  frivolities.  London 
Bridge  is  falling  down,  my  fair  lady.  Which  will 
you  take  for  a  guard-ring,  a  diamond  hoop  or  alter- 
nate diamonds  and  pearls ?" 

The  young  woman  who  read  could  see  the  smile 
of  the  young  man  who  thus  wrote.  She  could  feel 
his  eyes  and  the  spell  of  his  personality.  She  found 
in  the  brief  note  as  much  manly  tenderness  as  she 
could  wish. 


I  iiaitki;  111 

Til  E  youngest  of  the  <  h  I Irol  I  ei  -  found  it 

•  till  Sunday  1" 
the  house,  newly  acquired,— which  was  reJ 
to  as  th(  .  '    in  company  with  its  prospe 

Tl  .  in  pro  lecoration, 

is  filled  with  carpenl         ad  painters, 
1  hiring  this  row  ion  •  I 

than  :  :■•  [uent  of  Lai 

it  all  i  improb         'hat  Bhe  must  nol 

entirely  l  in  it.    The  roi  i  peared  Jto  her 

atial.     Life  "ii  a  indicated  by 

tlif  very  nan  the  mai  ir  separate  uses — 

butler's   pantry,   billiard  room,   linen-room,   laundry. 

dar-closet,    wine-cellar.    She    ■         not    unfamiliar 

with    luxury,    hut    had    known    it    only    as    gu<  id 

passer-by,  with  ne        i  thoughl  of  envy.    The  homes 

that    had   Been    '  POW   to  h-T   t  wnty-tv.  STS   1: 

■  •n  modest,  and  the  living  simple;  it  had  seemed  a 
d  deal  ti»  have  on         wn  house.    The  leap  from 

i  nnt  so  much  elafc  [cite  her 

and  give  her  moments — as  has  already  been  told — 
nt"  doubting  that  the  ironical  deception  could  last. 
Ti.        inisition  of  wealth,  however,  was  Less  >trango 


MISS  INGALIS  23 

than  the  acquisition  of  Clare.  Truly,  a  rajah,  blaz- 
ing with  rubies  and  emeralds,  would  not  have  seemed 
more  removed  from  her  than  he  had  at  first  sight. 
And  wherefore?  She  could  not  have  told.  That  he 
was  not  "her  kind"  was  the  best  she  would  have 
found  to  say,  voicing  the  common  fallacy  that  a 
handsome,  daring,  full-blooded  king  of  good  fellows 
must  be  looking  for  some  brilliant  counterpart  of 
himself. 

Instead,  his  eyes,  meeting  hers,  had  begun  court- 
ship at  once.  She  had  been  lifted  as  if  by  a  warm 
flood,  and  carried  along  on  glistening,  hastening 
waves;  she  had  come  to  consciousness  of  herself  as 
capable  of  infinite  affection — astonishing,  passionate 
affection — for  this  man  who  such  a  little  time  before 
had  been  a  stranger. 

*  *  This,  then,  is  what  it  is  like, ' '  she  had  said,  with  a 
sense  of  great  riches,  and  looked  back  with  pity  on 
her  pale  conceptions  of  love  in  the  colorless  past.  It 
covered  everything;  it  tinged  everything;  so  that, 
while  walking  through  the  empty  rooms  of  the  new 
house  beside  him,  she  was  not  using  her  judgment 
with  regard  to  the  hues  and  shapes  selected  for  their 
embellishment — she  was  accepting  all  as  being  of 
necessity  admirable,  since  it  suited  him. 

It  was  with  those  things  as  with  many  others  that 
had  regard  to  Clare :  taken  by  themselves,  they  might 
not  have  been  to  one 's  taste ;  but  taking  them  as  part 
of  the  content  of  that  conquering  personality,  one 


M  MISS  [N6ALIS 

lost  the  disposition  to  discriminate.  Clare  could  do 
th<»sr  tint.  i  could  w}  those  things,  because — 
because,  simply,  there  wi  much  life  in  his  fiery 
blue  glow  in  his  ch<  .  light  in  his  smile,  and 
harmony  in  his  feature  Then  there  was  such 
b  in  the  whole  of  his  well  proportioned  body 
— and  If,  Those  were  the 
things  you  v  lly  heeding,  warming  yourself  at, 
when,  if  yon  had  wisely  kepi  your  critical  faculty  on- 
entangled,  you  might  have  l n  able  to  give  valuable 

hints  and  perhaps  save  the  decoration  of  your  house 
ing  utterly  obvious  and  middle-clast 

In  thai  which  \       I  i  be  the  drawing  room  two  m 
were  layii  of  varied  woods;  in  the  dining- 

in  with  a  paint-  :  .1-  helping  <»ut 

the  carvinj  k  marble  mantel-piece  and  fir 

place  with  1  Id.     A   1         of  planin        me 

from  somen  I 

When  the  owner  and  his  intended  had  been  from 
p  of  the  hou         'id  were  looking  fur  a 

in  which   I  ry  a  moment   OUt   of  Bight   of  the 

workmen   an  restful    < i •  ■  1 1  lt  1 1 1 

home,    they    returned    natural!  the    one    mom 

that  was  finished  ami  already  contained  a  little  fund- 

tui 

Bere  tl  Lfter  beauty  was  marked  and,  in 

way.   successful.      PaiN  '   turquoise  brocade   in- 

i  by  gilt  moldings,  below  a  frieze  of  rose  gar- 
lands,  wen  ted  in  four  tine  mirror      .'   in  the 


MISS  INGALIS  25 

blue  panels.  The  bare  floor  was  a  light,  smooth  yel- 
low. The  suggestion  of  the  whole  was  that  it  had 
been  designed  for  a  feminine  occupant  or  occupants. 
The  ample,  uncurtained  windows  overlooked  the 
river,  whose  farther  bank  of  crowded  city  buildings 
took  on  a  poetic  air  under  the  sunset. 

Grace  and  Clare,  standing  in  the  doorway,  looked 
for  the  second  time  slowly  around  the  room. 

"Clare,"  she  broke  the  silence,  "how  does  it  hap- 
pen? What  were  you,  a  bachelor,  going  to  do  with 
such  a  big,  imposing  residence?" 

"Settle  down  in  it  and  wait  for  you,  0  maid  with 
the  delicate  air!"  he  said. 

"You  thought  I  was  a  blonde,  did  you?"  she 
lightly  asked.  "Sure  as  I  live,  this  room  was 
planned  with  a  blue-eyed,  golden-haired  sister  of 
Venus  in  your  eye.  So  sorry,  Clare,  to  disappoint 
you. ' ' 

Only  with  Clare  was  she  accustomed  to  talk  in  this 
vein.  She  had  learned  to  banter,  so  as  to  play  up  to 
him  in  the  style  of  comedy  he  affected.  Learned? 
It  came  easily  when  she  was  in  the  mood  that  his 
presence  provoked. 

In  answer  to  her  "So  sorry,  Clare,"  he  drew  her 
from  the  open  doorway  to  a  part  of  the  room  shel- 
tered from  passing  eyes,  and  embraced  her.  As  al- 
ways, she  turned  her  head  away  and  let  his  kiss  fall 
beneath  her  ear.  She  could  not  overcome  the  feeling 
that  there  was  something  wrong  about  accepting  his 


MISS  LNGALIS 

kiss.  She  le1  him  take  her  in  his  arms  it  was  now 
his  right  The  answering  warmth  with  which  she 
melted  to  him,  when  in  his  clasp,  was  very  sweet,  ycl 

An  element  of  anguish,  (ear,  re- 
fusal, was  always  in  it.  Some  inveterate  result  of 
her  bringing  up,  Bhe  supposed        it   such  conduct 

as  inconsistent,  for  she  was  allured  as  a  moth  to- 
ward flame  by  the  prospect  of  those  endearments 
from  which,  when  the  moment  came,  she  shrank. 

The  lov<  med  to  understand  how  it  was;  he  had 
i 1 1 1 « •  1 1  i j_r « - 1 1 » - « •  and  tact  sufficient  never  to  press  his  ad- 
vantage, but   to  take  without   contention   what    m 

in  ted  him  of  the  virginal,  shy  face.  It  was  sw<  I 
enough  under  her  little  ivory  ear,  still  mi.-Ii  a  qovi  I 

light     to    him;    her    hair    W88    BWeet     and    Soft     and 

fragrant   enough.  urity  of  j        ssion   mad.* 

y.    The     appropriate     care         inyhow, 

med  to  be,  in  I.  an  inhalation,         I  a  flower, 

ther    than    a    kiss.      Ele    drew    in    B    1"  notional 

.ith  and  sighed  it  out  again. 
■'  i  'in  must   1m-  eh         l ! '    he  said  briskly, 

when    next    1  Il«-    looked    around    him,    and 

then  meditatively  at  her.    She  was  what  In*  called  a 
idy  in  browns.     Her  hair,  with  its  dim  dusting  of 

gold,    was   only    a   little    lighter   than    her  which 

had  soft  brown  shadows  over  tin-  lids  and  around 
them;  her  cheeks  were  brown  in  the  last,  palest  dilu- 
tion; only   her  mouth  was   pink,  a   faint   pink,  alm< 

anemic,   in   the   midst   of   which   her   lustrous   teeth 


MISS  INGALIS  9TI 

showed  attractively  even,  like  the  pearls  of  a  neck- 
lace. 

"This  robin 's-egg  blue  has  got  to  go,"  he  said  de- 
cidedly, "and  yellow — a  Marshal  Niel  rose  yellow — 
take  its  place.  What  do  you  say?  And  the  floor 
stained  dark.  What  ?  It  's  for  you  to  choose.  This 
room  is  going  to  be  what  you  may  call  your  bondoor, 
if  you  fancy  the  word.  These  chairs,  I  guess,  will 
tone  in  with  yellow/' 

He  began  tearing  the  paper  off  a  chair,  one  of  four 
still  in  their  wrappings.  She  watched  it  emerge  with 
natural  interest :  gilt,  with  blue  seat  and  back,  medal- 
lions of  pink  roses. 

"I  picked  them  up  at  an  auction,"  he  took  the 
trouble  to  explain.  "Joking  apart,  I  had  no  idea  of 
living  in  this  house  myself.  I  was  getting  it  into 
shape  to  let.  I  didn't  buy  it;  I  came  by  it.  The 
firm  had  had  a  mortgage  on  it  for  years.  This  was 
finally  foreclosed.     But  how  handy  it  comes  in,  eh?' 

He  was  tearing  the  wrappings  now  from  the  sofa, 
which,  with  two  armchairs,  completed  the  set. 

"You  bought  them  at  an  auction,  did  you  say?' 
she  asked,  but  unsuspiciously.     "They  look  brand- 


new.' 


i  i 


I  guess  they  are  new,'  he  said  without  embar- 
rassment. "It  was  a  furniture-store  selling  out  after 
bankruptcy." 

They  seated  themselves  on  the  sofa  he  had  uncov- 
ered, and  leaned  back,  with  her  gloved  left  hand  and 


18  Miss  [NGALIS 

his  ban  righl  lying  clasped  in  the  space  between 
them,—  bo  diverse,  the  two,  and  each  penetrated  with  a 
peculiar  joy  in  the  other's  difference:  he,  so  sturdy, 
tilled  with  tin'  ruddy  color  oi  life  to  the  roots  of  his 
black  hair,  sugf  in  all  his  person  a  fitness  for 

5  like  tl  B  >man  gladiator  of  whom, 

with  his  cropped  and  curly  round  head,  his  bro 
neck,  he  at  I  minded  Grace;  she,  belonging  to 

a  much  lal  human  advance,  with  little 

:t  of  thai  primitive  red  force,  bul  a  shadow  <«\ 
which  madi        r  appear  costly,   some- 
how, the  inheritor  of  generations  who  had  accumu- 
lated t:  of  a  kind  Impalpable,  distinguished, 
superior. 

"Wellf    h<  l.    "How  do  you  think  you  like 

.       folk*!" 

"Like  the  are  wonderful !"  was  the  ready 

and  gratifying  bj  "What  a  dinner-party  1. 

■     iit !     1    was  bewildered;  there  p  many  of 

them :  *  much.    Whal   a  1.  I  Hare — 

wi  houseful]     Don'1  ask  me  for  separate  impi 

sioi        It  w  ad  had  hem  playing,  a  loud. 

ly  hand,  till    I   could  D  't   think 

■  ■  Thej  're  a  1   lo1       he  brought   in 

blnffly. 
"<      raef    What   do  you   mean?    1    found   them 
«tly  delightful;  one  and  all— genial,  bright,  full 

of  life.  It  Looked  as  if  the;  the  dinner-table,  the 
house,  everything,  had  come  tumbling  out  of  an  enor- 


MISS  INGALIS  29 

mous  horn  of  plenty.  You  must  n  't  expect  me  to  tell 
your  numerous  family  apart  quite  yet.  But  your 
sister,  I  know,  will  never  cease  to  be  my  favorite. 
Not  because  she  was  my  first  friend  among  them,  but 
because  she  has  been  so  nice.  I  was  nervous  yester- 
day evening, — it's  in  the  part,  isn't  it? — meeting 
them  for  the  first  time,  and  she  furnished  me  with 
moral  support.  What  a  kind,  lively,  loveable  per- 
son!" 

"Theresa  's  all  right." 

"How  nice  for  you  all  to  live  together  like  that! 
And  rather  unusual,  is  n't  it  ? " 

"There  's  a  lot  more  of  us  who  don't  live  in  the 
house  you  saw  last  night.  We  're  a  big  tribe.  I  'm 
one  of  eight,  among  brothers  and  sisters,  all  married 
but  me." 

"I  hope — "  said  Grace,  with  her  eyes  demurely 
turned  away  from  him  and  downward — "I  hope  they 
liked  me,  too." 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed,  and  halted  expressively,  to 
produce  a  commensurate  effect  of  irony.  "We  are 
not  quite  swine,  I  hope,  0  pearl!" 

Shamefacedly  and  hurriedly,  to  banish  the  idea 
that  she  desired  compliments  from  him  or  the  report 
of  any  pleasant  things  that  might  have  been  spoken 
of  her  by  her  future  family,  Grace  asked: 

"And  how  do  you  like  my  folks,  Clare?     Tell  me." 

"Immense!     Oh,   immense!     Rare!" 

At  his  exaggerated  emphasis,  she  looked  directly  at 


SO  MISS   [NGALIS 

him.  He  smiled  Btraight  into  her  .  .1-  if  confi- 
dent that  Bhe  rnusl  at  bottom  be  in  sympathy  with 
his  \  iew  of  the  persona  in  question. 

••  First  rati .'"  he  went  on,  still  emphasizing.    "Like 
'em  first  ra        Love  to  have  'em  for  mine.     No  px 
tense  about  it.  Graa       But,  tell  me  true," — the  oar- 
rowing  gleam  of  h      eye  had   the  significance  of  a 

wink,      "didn't     your     l»n»t  Iwr-in-la  w     at     BOme     time 

during  Ins  cart  bild] 1  get  a  knock  on  the  head 

that  flattened  his  bump  of  fun 

She  began  to  laugh,  then  refrained. 
Poor  I.  finding  it  impossible  to 

stand  up  for  him  as,  pi  rhaps,  she  ought. 

■(  >r    Bat(  3     Poor.     I-  n 't    thai  pr     ident  tal 

name 

"But  my  sister  Lydia  ni<-t  with  no  such  accident," 
she    pri'sM,!    mi    quickly    in    a    different    direction. 
■  Tl  ■  plenty  of  fun  in  her.     Foo  like  her,  don't 

yon 

I    >h<»nld    ha      I    did '     A    \ ->-v\    fine 
woman.     Lots  to  her,    character,  Bpunk.     I   can 
that.     Want  to  keep  on  her  good  side.    She  daunts 
me  \\  ith  hi 

Again  lit-  looked  at  her  as  if         tin  that,  behind 
the  decent   hyp  died    for  by  consanguinity, 

she  saw  the  tiling  precisely  as  he  did.  Again  the 
effect  of  a  wink  flashed  in  the  depth  of  his  mirthful 

"Don't  you  find  she  can  daunt  you  tool     Don't 


MISS  INGALIS  31 


you  grow  uneasy  when,  with  a  steely  glance,  she  sort 
of  curdles  the  milk  in  your  veins  ? ' ' 

Grace  had  to  laugh,  not  at  what  he  said,  but  at  his 
look,  which  demanded  a  response  of  laughter,  and  free 
pardon  for  his  irreverence. 

But  thereupon  she  said  seriously,  deprecatingly : 

"You  don't  understand  Lydia,  Clare.  She — she  's 
had  such  a  trying  time — so  many  disappointments — 
enough  to  sour  anyone's  nature.  Not  that  I  admit 
she  is  sour.  She  's  worried  and  preoccupied;  the 
burden  of  everything  always  seems  to  fall  on  her. 

"She  married  when  I  was  approaching  my  teens, 
and  went  off,  full  of  expectations  and  happiness,  with 
Batey,  who  was  a  clergyman  then.  Yes,  he  used  to  be 
a  clergyman.  Perhaps  that  is  what  you  noticed. 
Everything  seemed  bright  and  promising  for  them. 
But,  somehow — I  don't  know.  After  a  few  years 
Batey  left  the  Church.  He  couldn't  subscribe  to 
every  part  of  the  creed,  it  seems.  After  that  he  did 
one  thing  after  another,  but  nothing  seemed  to  suc- 
ceed. It  's  easy  to  think  it  was  his  fault  or  their 
fault,  and  yet  it  never  quite  seemed  to  be,  if  one  ex- 
amined the  facts  and  tried  to  be  fair. 

"When  I  was  sixteen  Mama  died,  and  for  several 
years  Papa  and  I  lived  alone.  I  kept  house  for  him ; 
we  have  always  had  a  house,  even  when  there  were 
only  two  of  us,  because  we  had  such  a  lot  of  things 
— furniture  and  books,  you  know,  such  a  lot  of  books 
— that  had  belonged  to  us  all  our  lives  and  that  we 


MISS   CNGALIS 

liked  to  keep  around  d  Then,  in  time,  Lydia  and 
Batey  came  back  to  make  their  home  with  d  I.ydia 
has  always  kepi  her  belief  that  Batey  will  find  the 
right  tliii  g  to  do  otly,  and  make  a  sue  Bui 

somehow —  You  can  Bee  thai  the  situation  might  take 
some  of  the  hu.  :'  him  and  some  of  th<        et- 

ncs  Papa  died,   I        Lydia  1. 

so-  to  feel — shf  1  Oh,   I  'm   not 

go  it  all  that  jus         w!     Only,  1  want 

i  to  like  Lj  lis 

want  in  in  tlif  worst  kind  of  way  for 

•  ■  r  tty  well 

"  '   .  ;  believe  mo  when  1 

tell  v  unjust   than  i 

to  lo  1  ily  to  .  when  1  wi 

a  little  tot  —her  :  it  out 

.   the  t-bubfa         he 

blew.    Once,  v.  ting           the  measl< 

she—" 

''Little           '  y    pi 

.  '  'there  'a  d  i  telling  me  all  thi 

Y    .:•  your —     Yes. 

In                 We  :  •'-  in  the 

store   for  br  if   you   think   it    would   do 

— if  he  would  n't  t  much  above  it." 

His  tone  •■  ir  her  feelings.     The 

sub;     •  of  relati  oul  of  their  conversation. 

They  d  at  a  window  and  watch  the  sky 

and   river  slowly  paling   after   sunset    Then    t. 


MISS  INGALIS  33 

strayed  across  the  spacious  landing,  while  the  house 
echoed  with  emptiness,  to  the  front  room,  and  looked 
out  of  the  bay-window  up  and  down  the  street  with 
the  dignified  darkening  fronts  of  many  other  such 
houses  as  theirs. 

It  was  very  still;  the  workmen  must  have  gone 
home.  Though  the  windows  were  still  light,  the 
stairs,  when  they  returned  to  them,  were  dark.  Hear- 
ing her  slide  her  foot  to  find  the  top  step,  he  cautioned 
her: 

"Wait!     Don't  try!     You'll  break  your  bones!" 

Without  being  asked  for  her  consent,  she  felt  her- 
self lifted.  She  seemed  very  light  to  him,  and  he  im- 
mensely strong  to  her.  Yet  she  could  not  rest  in  his 
arms  whole-heartedly  and  be  borne  downstairs  like  a 
child.  He  could  feel  her  try  to  weigh  as  little  as 
possible,  touch  him  as  little  as  possible.  But  this 
had  attraction  for  him,  like  the  soft  flutter  of  a  bird 
inside  the  hand  that  has  captured  it. 

She  remembered  a  thought  of  her  childhood. 
Watching  her  father  carry  her  mother  upstairs, 
when  the  latter  was  weak  after  an  illness,  she  had 
decided  that  she  would  never  marry  a  man  who  could 
not  carry  her  over  the  stairs. 


CHAPTBB  IV 

GRACE,  coming  down  late  after  oversleeping, 
was  glad  to  find  that  no  tronble  had  been  taken 
to  keep  her  breakfast  lift,  beyond  turning  a 

neer  over  the  oatmeal.  This  was  according  to  her 
request    She  felt  '        uilty 

Shi  down  tn  it  absent-mindedly.  The  basement 
dining-room  was  darker  than  usual,  because  of  the 
rainy  sky,  but  Bhe  did  not  mind  tin*  ^lomn  this  morn- 
ing. Her  still  retained  an  impression  of  bright- 
in-  d  hei  I  music,  Prom  the  theater  of  y- 
terday  evening. 

Lydia  could  be  heard  stirring  in  the  kitchen. 

Bate]  at  the  window  for  the  better  Light.  He 
had  exchanged  ''good  1 1 h » r 1 1  i 1 1 !_- - '  with  bia  sister-in- 
law  upon  her  entrance,  and  then  had  spoken  no  more. 
Thia  signified  nothinj  ept  thai  he  was  busy  reading 
his  paper,  and  did  uot  demand  of  himself,  any  more 
than  (i:  ted  of  him,  sociability  in  the  family. 

11.'  would   presently,  it   was  quite   possible,  let   her 
have  some  of  the  facts  that  into  i        1  him  in  the  day 
news     Meanwhile  she  hardly  felt  his  presence  in  tip' 
room. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  Batey  Poor  more 
than   from   his  outside  of  -allow   features  and  black 

34 


MISS  IXGALIS  35 

hair,  because  it  was  difficult  to  feel  that  one  under- 
stood him.  There  was  proof  that  he  had  a  good  in- 
telligence and  had  received  a  good  education ;  but  why 
should  there  be  so  little  of  flower  and  fruit  from  a 
normal  tree?  Of  foliage,  even?  If  he  had  said, 
"You  prick  us;  do  we  not  bleed?  You  tickle  us;  do 
we  not  laugh?"  why  would  one  have  been  tempted 
to  say,  "No,  you  do  not!"  Was  he  less  than  an  ordi- 
nary man,  or  more?  Whichever  way  one  answered 
the  question,  one  found  reason  later  to  question  the 
answer.  He  did  no  harm  to  an3Tbody,  but  he  did  no- 
body any  good,  either,  that  one  could  see.  Perhaps 
he  did  do  a  little  harm  by  dulling  the  light  and  lower- 
ing the  temperature  wherever  he  was;  on  the  other 
hand,  he  no  doubt  did  a  little  good  to  Lydia,  who  in- 
credibly, mysteriously,  loved  him. 

Winfred  Ingalis,  his  father-in-law,  had  applied  an 
excellent  mind  to  the  study  of  Batey,  he  too  with  scant 
result.  Positive  only  that  Batey  was  not  contented 
and  did  not  content  him,  Winfred,  having  a  taste  for 
manipulating  abstractions,  had  tried  to  fit  him  with 
imaginary  circumstances  amid  which  he  would  have 
been  satisfied  and  satisfactory.  He  had  stopped 
upon  the  idea  that  Batey  ought  to  have  been  a  Sicilian 
prince  of  no  importance,  living  in  a  hot  climate  and  a 
sleepy  old  palace,  with  nothing  to  do  but  read  a  little, 
ride  a  little,  and  go  at  evening  to  a  cafe.  He  could  see 
him  as  quite  distinguished  in  a  monochromatic,  taci- 
turn way. 


86  MISS  IN6ALI8 

in  the  same  way.  he  tried  to  arrange  an  ideal  life 
for  Lydia,  his  eldest  child;  but  this  he  found  more 
difficult,  becausf .  I  she  were  to  be  happy,  her  particu- 
lar faculties  must  be  brought  into  play,  and  her  points 
were  order,  prudenc  tonomy,  with  the  eorrelat 
virtues,  not  tly  demanded   bj    the   fa*iry  story. 

imetimes  1.       ttled  her  in  life  as  mistress  of 
moni(  a  queen  of  Spain,  with  all  the  maids  "t* 

honor  under  her  discipline;  but  oftener  he  made  1 

in-        |    sublimated    Q01  witl  and 

Btore-cli  !id  a  bunch  of  !•  . 

Part   of  the  peering,          led   look  obi         le   in 
Winfred  [ngalia's  photograph  was  due,  do  doubt,  to 

pond        '  the  m\            E  both  Lydia  and  <ir.i>-"  1 

ing  his  daughfc        children  of  tl  moth         it- 
eoi:         the  same  c 

When  it  came  4                 I  i  tutu 

love    interfered     With    Ins    fixing    upon    any;    human 

bilities  •      much  restricted  the  field.     Hia  sei 
of  a  Fat!    r'a  shield  his  child  Forever  br 

in  him  the  keener  longing  to  place  in  her  hands  a 
lamp  t->  guide  herself  by,  and  the  despair  that 

en  this  was  more  than  on.'  could  be  <»f  accom- 

plish!] 

rs   ••  was  not  one  of  those  fortunate  younir  women 
who   look   well   at    all   times.      The   humor  she   was   in 

had   everything  to  do  with  her  appearance.    At    a 

thought,  an   uplift  of  the  spirit,   beauty   could   dawn 


MISS  INGALIS  37 

in  her  face  like  a  star  clearing  its  silver  path  through 
mist.  At  a  pang  of  discouragement,  disillusion,  it 
could  fade  like  the  rose  color  out  of  a  sunset  cloud. 
Since  coming  home  from  the  West  Indies  she  had 
looked  softly  lovely  all  the  time,  not  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  great  heartbreakers  among  flowers, — rose, 
lily,  gardenia, — but  one  of  the  secondary  favorites, 
yet  thoroughly  sweet :  a  daffodil  on  its  slender,  thorn- 
less  stem. 

She  cared  about  her  looks,  but  not  constantly.  She 
knew  that  a  girl  can  use  them  to  captivate,  as  a  fairy 
good  or  bad  can  use  her  wand;  but  a  very  little  ex- 
perience had  made  her  afraid  to  do  this,  lest  the  re- 
sult be  a  burden  and  a  bore.  A  man  she  disliked  had 
once  pursued  her  with  attentions;  she  had  become 
careful  not  to  arouse  attention  that  might  result  in 
pursuit.  She  would  not  have  been  displeased  to  know 
that  men  were  in  love  with  her,  but  she  could  not  en- 
dure being  made  love  to. 

When  it  came  to  Clare,  needless  to  say,  all  this  was 
changed.  It  was  still  a  marvel,  the  simplicity  with 
which,  on  their  last  evening  aboard  the  Pretoria,  when 
he  caught  her  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  deck  and  said 
she  had  got  to  have  him,  she  gave  him  his  way. 

And  now,  with  the  sense  of  being  loved,  she  was 
bloomy  and  shiny-eyed  even  while  eating  lukewarm 
oatmeal  and  a  cold  egg. 

Lydia  came  from  the  kitchen,  and  pulled  out  a 
sideboard  drawer  to  place  in  it  the  handful  of  silver 


MISS   [NGALIS 

she  I). id  polished.    She  wore  a  spotless  apron  over  a 
neat  Mark  dress.     Lydia  could  do  any  kind  of  nous 
work  ami  not  Boil  herself  or  her  apron:  it  partook  of 
the  supernatural. 

[1   was  doI  altogethi  ■    trange,  perhaps,  that,  with 
hi  rched  linen  collar,  her  black  hair  compactly 

done,  she  should  casl  a  look  of  disfavor  at  Grace,  who, 
in  hurrying  I   to  !><'  disgracefully  late,  had 

wound  up  her  hair  oegligently  and  tied  a  carele 
pink  scarf  around  her  neck.     But  there  was  felt  to  be 
tmething  subtly  reprehensible  likevi        tomething  in- 
insidei  (  diibition,  through  enhanced 

beauty,   of   inward    warmth   and   content.     Further- 
more,     to         >unt    for  the  eoohi        of   Ly  dia's  ei 
when  ng  on  her  Bister,     there  was  0         -  stand 

ing  offi        of  letting  her  do  all  the  work.    True,  Gra 
wanted  to  help;  but  her  waj  of  going  about  it  made 
Lyd  is  th.  ar.-d  she  bad  ten  timi 

ther  do  it  alone.    I  had  more  than  once  mildly 

otured  I         he  thought  it  would  be  better  to  have 
a  servant    They  had  always  had  one:  it  seemed  to 
her  that  they  could  even  now  afford  a  general  houi 
maid.     Bui    Lydia  had  sniffed  iu  contempt,  and   re 
marked  that  <«'i         ridently  failed  to  grasp  the  finan- 
cial situation. 
The  old<  r  now  sal  down  at  the  table,  as  it"  to 

it  and  be  companionable  for  a  few  minutes  while 
the  other  finished  her  breakfast. 
There  existed  between  the  two  an  ordinary  family 


MISS  INGALIS  39 

likeness  of  proportion  and  texture ;  the  wide  differ- 
ence was  in  their  coloring  and  expression.  Grace's 
brown  pallor  was  warm  beside  Lydia's  grayish  white- 
ness. Lydia  ought  to  have  been  the  handsomer,  if 
firmer,  clearer,  more  classic  lines  could  have  achieved 
it;  but  those  well  carved  features  were  the  cover,  too 
obviously,  of  bitter  depths.  The  habitual  look  of 
Lydia's  eye  called  the  universe  and  every  person  in  it 
to  sharp  account  for  the  fact  that  things  had  not 
gone  better  with  her  and  her  mate.  The  universe 
could  not  be  expected  to  like  it.  Grace  felt  sorry  for 
her,  to  the  point  of  trying  not  to  mind  the  things 
Lydia  said  and  did  to  her.  She  loyally  held  the  be- 
lief that  under  it  all  her  sister  loved  her. 

1 '  Well  ? ' '  asked  Lydia.  ' '  How  was  it  last  evening  ? 
Did  you  have  a  good  time?" 

Grace  woke  up  and  began  telling  about  it.  She 
related  the  play,  scene  by  scene,  laughing  with  a  re- 
turn of  her  first  delight.  After  a  description  of  the 
popular  Rosina  Vokes,  she  jumped  up  from  the  table 
to  give  as  much  as  she  remembered  of  "You  should 
see  me  dance  the  polka!" — a  poor  imitation  of  one 
inimitable,  but  well  meant. 

Batey,  without  laying  down  his  paper,  turned  his 
head  to  watch.  Lydia,  with  her  lips  set  to  a  smile,  yet 
looked  rather  inscrutable.  But  it  was  a  part  of  gen- 
erosity with  Grace  to  take  for  granted  Lydia's 
pleasure  in  hearing  about  the  good  time.  The  con- 
trast smote  her,  too,  between  the  two  pictures :  Lydia 


K)  MISS   [NGALIS 

and  Batey  Bpending  the  evening  according  to  their 
dreary  custom,  she  mending,  he  reading  to  himself, 
the  heater  not  giving  forth  much  heat  or  the  econom- 
ical lamp  much  light  j  and  herself  going  to  the  theater 
in  a  hackney-coach  with  a  young  fellow  lavish  as  new 
love,  a  fur  robe  for  her  I        .  a  bunch  <>t"  violets  for 

her    hand,    a    DOI    of    CI  els,    the    D€Sl    srats    in    the 

houa      It  verily  hurt  her  a  little    But  it'  she  had 
ition  t<>  hid-*  these  things,  lest  they  hurt 
her  -       'too,  ild  have  hated  herself  for  so 

insulting  the  I  -  in  thought  She  cherished  the 
intention  of  movii  tte  hint  to  com- 

plete her  pleasure  i     ■   time  by  inviting  the  oth< 
to  go  with  them. 
"And  ,        wardsf"  asked  Lydia,    "Did  he  take 

We  went  to  bai 

T!         relation,  plunged  Lydia 

in  thought  She  looked  past  Qi  I  the  wall;  and 
(,':         when  the  Bilence  had  1  a  minute  or  two, 

■    the   unc         rtable   im]  m   that    Lydia   had 

-  mething  on  her  mind  which  Bhe  was  preparing  to 
make  known. 

L.  dia.  howei  tided         her  businet 

"Batey,  you  ought  to  no  and         I     the  furnace,1 
lid. 

l:  leaving  his  chair.  Batey  took  time  to  stretch 

his  arms  and  legs.      B  I    up  and  obediently 

vanished. 


MISS  INGALIS  41 

Grace  folded  her  napkin,  and  was  collecting  her 
dishes  to  take  them  into  the  kitchen,  when  Lydia  ful- 
filled her  presentiment. 

"Never  mind  those,"  she  stopped  her.  "Sit  down 
again ;  I  want  to  talk  to  you. ' ' 

Grace's  wonder  had  a  strong  tincture  of  alarm. 
What  followed  dispelled  the  alarm  without  alto- 
gether clearing  the  wonder. 

1 '  How  soon  do  you  suppose  you  will  be  getting  mar- 
ried?" Lydia  asked. 

"My  dear,"  faltered  Grace,  "I  've,  only  been  en- 
gaged a  little  over  two  weeks." 

"I  know  that.  But  have  you  any  notion?  Can 
you  form  any  idea?" 

"No,  dear.  We  haven't  spoken  of  it.  Why  do 
you  want  to  know?" 

' '  I  want  to  know  because  your  plans,  unfortunately, 
affect  ours." 

"In  what  way  do  you  mean,  Lydia?" 

"Use  your  brains.  Is  there  any  single,  solitary 
way  in  which  they  do  not  ? ' ' 

As  Grace,  trying  to  follow  instructions  and  use  her 
brains,  was  for  some  time  mute,  Lydia  pursued: 
"We  can't  feel  ourselves  free,  of  course,  until  you 
marry. ' ' 

"You  mean  that,  if  it  were  not  for  me,  you  would 
want  to  do  something  different — go  somewhere  else?" 

"I  mean  that  the  lease  here  expires  the  first  of  May. 
I  've  put  off  the  landlord,  and  put  him  off,  when  he 


MISS  [NGALIS 

hafl    wanted    to    kn<>\v    if    we    meant    to    keep    OIL      We 

should  certainly  doI  renew  the  lease  if  yon  were  going 
to  be  married,  say,  in  six  months. " 
"Bui    thai    is   nol    a1    all    Likely.     A   year   is   the 

mm. first." 

Why  nil  earth  do  you  wail  bo  Long         iked  Lydia 
unexpectedly,    and    added,    with    b  Btinging    laugh: 

\-  the  pace  you  are  going,  1  should  Bay  the  sooi 
the  better. ' 

Qrace  blushed  darkly  red,  and  \'<*r  a  momenl  soughl 
words  to  expi        I    r  with  some  adequacy  without  in- 
volving her  in  an  instantaneous  quant        While  she 
allowing  ber  annoyance,  Lydia  wenl  on: 

'This  house  is  t  an)  bow.    Too  I 

and  for  and  me   -1 

< i ■        -till  did  qo1  to  be  sure  tl 

•  voic         i\^\  !"•  calm. 

Lydia  went  <>n:  always  seemed  nonsense 

inyhow     a  whole  boo  such  a  small  family. 

\V.   could  have  boarded,  any  time,  for  much  less." 

"'I  arc  all  th»-  1 ks.     There  is  all  the  furni- 

tur       1  '.ipa  liked  the  feeling  of  hom< 

'  I  know.     That  u;h  the  explanation  he  An  I 

l  b  thought  it  a  funny  one,  considering  thai  he 

never  would  stay  l"n-_r  enough  in  any  place  to  ha 
gol  the  feeling  thai  it  was  hom< 

'It  wasn'1  the  love  of  change,  Lydia.     You  know 
that" 

■  1  >o   1  r     What        -   it    then  I     Pure   restlesaiK 


MISS  INGALIS  43 

that  made  him  give  up  one  job  after  another  and 
move  from  city  to  city?" 

"No,  it  was  not  restlessness,"  spoke  Grace 
staunchly,  and  stiffened  her  voice  to  keep  it  from 
tears  of  indignation.  "I  understood  perfectly.  If 
you  don't  understand,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  make 
you.  In  every  case  there  was  a  good  reason,  but  not 
as  everyone  would  see  it.  The  methods,  the  policies, 
of  the  people  he  had  to  work  with  would  always  dis- 
gust him  in  the  end.  He  could  not  adapt  himself  to 
being  a  party  to  what  he  regarded  as  humbug.  He 
would  try  to  change  things  and  when  he  found  he 
couldn't,  he  would  grow  impatient  and  speak  his 
mind,  then  get  out  of  it — throw  it  over.  You  ought 
to  be  proud  of  it.  I  am.  That  he  was  valuable,  that 
he  was  respected,  was  shown  by  magazines  and  news- 
papers, one  after  the  other,  offering  him  positions. 
In  a  world  where  so  many  people  are  careless  about 
how  they  get  success,  if  they  just  can  get  it,  there 
ought  to  be  a  few  who  are  particular.  I  am  glad  my 
father  was  one  of  them." 

"You  need  n't  get  so  hot,  my  dear,  as  if  I  had  cast 
a  slur  on  Papa's  memory!  I  was  only  saying  it 
had  n  't  been  very  nice  for  us.  You  were  always  his 
favorite,  though;  you  can't  be  expected  to  see  the 
thing  exactly  as  I  do.  I  'm  not  doing  him  an  injus- 
tice, I  hope  you  admit,  in  saying  you  were  his  fa- 
vorite." 

"Lydia,  I  loved  Papa  more  than  you  did.     That 


ii  Miss  i\c;alis 

was  tin-  explanation.     I  love  him  more  now  than  you 
do.     It  was  that  that  made  me  his  favorite.     Prom  a 

baby,  I  loved  him  inure." 

'And   why,   pl<  did  you   love  him   more?     Be 

can  d  yon   more,   naturally.     From  the  first . 

1  was  never  spoiled  and  petted  aa  yon  were.     Papa 

and    Mama   were   Strict   with    in         I    was   only   a    little 

girl  when  you  came— a  little  «.rirl  of  nine;  hut  I  used 
to  have  to  mind  you  like  a  little  hired  nursery-maid." 

"  Poor   Mama   was   ill." 

"No,  she  wasn't    Tt  was  jusl  their  different  way 

with  mi      I  wa  1  to  be  unselfish  and  make 

If  useful.     When  your  turn  came,  they  let  yon 

ou  p]        I-,  they  never  seemed  to 

notice  t;    ■      m  w<         Ifish.     I  w at  alwayi        rificed 

to  j  >u.  but  i  emed  to  notice  it. " 

< ! :  I    at    I  r  with    •  of   young   be* 

wilderment     She       dd  not  nnderstand  this  nnpro 
ked  overflowing  of  venom,  because  she  looked  for 
subtle  reason  for  it.     And  it  w        i  simple. 

"Oh,    Lydia,    please    not    to   <_ro   on    like   that''     she 

tried  to  end  the  horrid  scene  and  with  shuddering 
pngnance  wipe  away  th<       on  of  it.    "It  makes  me 

sick  to  the  soul:  it    makes  me  want   to  die  and   be  out 

of  it  " 

My  dear,  a  little  truth  won't   do  you  a  bit   of 
harm  I ' '  said  Lydia.  in  a  voice  as  brisk  and  ontender 
the  t-ast  wind.     5     looked  elated,  as  if  at  a  success 

"  Yuu  have  always  lived  with  your  head  in  the  clouds. 


MISS  INGALIS  45 

so  that  you  never  see  the  things  that  have  no  direct 
reference  to  yourself.  And  now,  more  than  ever, 
with  your  head  filled  by  this  new  grandeur,  it  is  easy 
for  you  to  be  wrapped  in  yourself.  But  there  are 
other  people,  you  know ;  there  are  other  things. 
When  I  married  Batey,  it  was  in  part  to  escape  from 
a  home  where  I  was  always  made  to  play  second 
fiddle. " 

"I  was  the  baby,  Lydia.  They  had  lost  two  chil- 
dren between  your  coming  and  mine.  Can't  you  un- 
derstand?    I  was  their  last." 

"Last  but  not  least — yes.  I  remember  my  feelings 
of  irony  when,  as  soon  as  I  was  well  out  of  the  way, 
married  off,  you  closed  shop  and  all  went  to  Europe 
for  a  holiday." 

1 '  Lydia,  how  can  you  pervert  things  so ! ' 

' '  What  am  I  perverting  ?  Did  n  't  you  wait  to  go 
to  Europe  till  I  could  n  't  go  ? " 

"But — but — Papa  made  you  a  present  of  money 
when  you  married,  didn't  he,  which  might  be  re- 
garded as  an  equivalent  for  the  traveling  you 
missed  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  that!  It  would  have  been  rather  too  pointed 
if  he  hadn't  given  me  anything.  Don't  look  at  me 
like  that,  Grace.  I  'm  not  a  curiosity.  I  could  never 
see  why  one  shouldn't  tell  the  truth  about  people 
because  they  are  dead.  I  call  them  well  off  when 
they  are  dead.  It  's  the  time  when  they  're  surest  not 
to  care." 


M  MISS  [NGALIS 

•  h    might   I"'  better  to  drop   the  Bubjec  rid 

(ii  so  faintly  as  to  give  her  words  ;m  effect  of  \i<»- 
lem  ■  I  low  ever  did  we  come  to  it .'  I  Eow  did  this 
dreadful  conversation  begin  1  .  .  .  You  were  Baying 
you  didn't  want  to  renew  the  Lease  unless  it  were 
rtain  I  .should  not  be  married  inside  the  year.  I 
.shall   do!    I"',     [f   it    depends  on   that,  you   can    i 

Jlt'U    ]• 

ll'>u  do  you  know,  if  the  matter  has  never  come 
up  between  3    1     ad  .Mr.  <  >\ ercon 

'However  it  turned  out,  I  should  pay  my  Bhare  of 

the  rent     I  will  pay  more  than  my  half,  to  make  up 

my  inconvenience  there  may  be  for  other-       Lei 

Mir  pay  three  quart         Lydis    or  Lei    me   pay  the 

w  h 

dow.  my  child.     You  haven't   married   your 
rich  man  yet 

'  I  '  b  of  Papa's  life  [nsuranc 

■  l  don 't  want  it.     I  I...  her  n  \'<>v  \ 

ring  to  renew  the  !■  We  might       well  talk  the 

thing  OUt  now.      An  opportunity 

which  I  don't  think  he  ought  to  miss.     It  would  in- 

•  itiL'  Soutl 

"Going  &  uth  .'" 

'Yes;  to  Florid       !•  s  something  that         ••  up 
whili  away,  and  I  've  wanted  tn        )  it  a 

careful  thinking  saying  anything  about 

it.     Batey'a  brother  P       r,  who  ha        en  in  Welaka 
for  >mii,  wants  Bat       to  join  him  Hx-p-  and  go 


MISS  INGALIS  47 

in  with  him.  There  's  an  opening,  an  excellent 
chance.  Batey  grew  up  in  the  South,  you  may  re- 
member, and  has  always  wanted  to  go  back.  This 
climate  is  too  harsh  for  him.  The  point  now  is  to 
see  what  arrangement  we  can  make  about  you.  Your 
coming  home  engaged  seemed  at  first  to  complicate 
things ;  but  the  more  I  've  looked  at  it,  the  more  I  've 
seen  that  it  really  simplifies  them." 

"Oh,  please  don't  think  of  me.  You  mustn't  let 
me  make  any  difference.  Please  think  only  of  your- 
selves. ' ' 

"That  's  easy  to  say,  my  dear.  Don't  be  silly. 
I  've  got  to  think  of  you  and  make  some  proper  ar- 
rangement. What  would  your  future  family  think? 
I  can't  leave  unless  you  are  suitably  settled  some- 
where and  everything  is  right  for  you  till  you  get  mar- 
ried. The  best  solution,  of  course,  and  the  most 
natural,  would  be  for  you  to  spend  the  interval  be- 
fore your  marriage  with  friends.  Now,  what  friends 
have  you  who  could  and  would  take  you  in?' 

"I  can't  think  of  any,  Lydia,  that  I  would  care  to 
ask  for  so  great  an  accommodation,  such  a  very  great 
favor.  We  haven't  a  single  relative  in  this  city,  or 
a  single  friend  that  we  've  had  for  any  length  of  time. 
How  should  we  have?  We  haven't  lived  here  long 
enough. ' ' 

"We  've  never  lived  anywhere  long  enough  to  have 
friends — it  's  what  I  was  saying  when  you  picked  me 
up  and  seemed  to  think  I  was  such  a  monster. 


7  ? 


48  MISS  INGALIS 

'Ma    Lamont   is  the   only    person    in   the   world    I 
would  think  of  asking  so  much  of.     And  she  livi 
'way  off  in  Maine 

"Well,  then— " 

"But  there  arc  boarding-hous<        I  suppose  people 
arc  Bometimes  married  from  a  boarding-hou 

"You  would  have  a  church  wedding;  the  boarding- 
house  Deed  n't  ar  in  the  matter  at  all.    Tin 
are  |         ttly  n       ttable  boarding-houses,  of  coun 

■it  oni  i.     I :'  we  ;         b  business  of  looking 
them  op,  I        •■  no  doubt  we  can  find  one  kept  by  a 

iy  with  daughters,  who  would  take  you  right  into 
her  own  family.    Or-  this  would  b        a  better— i 
in  look  for  oily,  aot  a  boarding-hous,<  at  all.  a 

nilv  who  would  make       i  like  one  of  themselvi 

•  ■  i  ii-  •  time        kink,  liydi       1  ton 't  do 

anything  ahout  it  for  a  day  or  t 

"We  shall  have  to  :  f  this  house  before  the 

first  of  Mav.  v-m  r 

"I  know.    Go  ahout  the  pari  that  concerns  you  and 

1  '.,.•■  7  as  if  I  ^  i    .lv  let  me  think  out 

for  myself  the  part  that  concerns  Bolely  me.    Give  me 
a  little  time.91 

"Very  welL  i  go  ahead,  and  w.-  '11  «ro  ahead. 

If  we  could  get  away       •;  earlier — say,  by  the  middle 

April — it  would  l"'  that  much  better  for  Batey 

and  D         This  is  a  turn  in  our  lives  when  no  one  can 

blame  us,   I  should  think,  for  looking  out    for  our- 


MISS  INGALIS  49 

selves.  We  aren't  going  to  marry  a  rich  man,  you 
see.  As  for  being  beholden  to  rich  relations,  I  shall 
be  excused,  I  hope,  for  saying  that  it  's  not  to  my 
taste. ' ' 

"I  have  n't  said  that  I  'm  glad  of  this  new  opening 
for  Batey.  But  I  am,  I  hope  you  know — with  all  my 
heart.  I  wouldn't  for  anything  in  the  world  be  a 
hindrance  in  the  way  of  it." 

"No.  With  all  the  magnificence  that  is  coming  to 
you  in  a  few  months, — for  if,  when  he  asks  you  to 
set  the  day,  Clarence  Overcome  lets  you  put  it  a  whole 
year  ahead,  he  's  not  the  man  I  take  him  for, — if, 
I  say,  with  all  the  wealth  and  grandeur  that  's  com- 
ing to  you  so  soon,  you  grudged  Batey  and  me  our 
poor  little  prospects,  you  'd  have  to  be  meaner  than 
I  've  ever  thought  you." 

"I  want  you — I  want  you  so  much  to  succeed.  This 
will  be  the  very  thing  for  Batey,  I  am  sure. ' 

"It  does  look  more  promising  than  usual,  because 
my  half  of  the  life  insurance  gives  us  a  little  capital 
to  start  with.  It  would  be  no  use  trying,  Foster  says, 
without  some  capital.  For  once  in  our  lives,  we  have 
it.  It  's  not  much,  but  it  's  something.  That  's  one 
reason  why  it  's  so  important  not  to  wait  till  the  cur- 
rent expenses  of  this  house  have  eaten  it  up.' 

"You  're  quite  right.  Yes,  I  'm  sure  you  will  do 
well  this  time.  There  always  comes  a  turn,  doesn't 
there,  if  one  waits  long  enough. 


>> 


so  mis>  [NGALIS 

"It  was  about  time,  I  should  Bay,  that  something 
fortunate  happened  to  us.  I  was  coming  to  tin-  con- 
clusion thai  there  wasn't  an  atom  of  justice  io  the 
world." 


CHAPTER  V 

GRACE  went  to  her  room  in  a  daze.  She  would 
have  liked  to  go  out  and  walk,  but  it  was  rain- 
ing too  heavily.  She  could  reflect  while  walk- 
ing in  the  open  air  better  than  in  any  other  way ;  her 
puny  bits  of  poetry  had  in  their  time  been  composed 
on  her  long  walks. 

In  the  afternoon  the  sky  partly  cleared,  and  she 
started  forth,  with  rubbers  and  umbrella,  not  quite 
trusting  the  season  and  its  moods.  She  passed  in  the 
upper  hall,  with  a  pang,  a  roll  of  carpeting,  already 
pulled  up  by  zealous  hands,  the  beginning  of  the  dis- 
ruption of  the  last  home  that  had  known  her  father. 
She  decided  that  the  hour  called  for  calm  reasonable- 
ness, helpful  philosophy. 

She  soon  reached  the  street  she  had  been  aiming 
for,  where  there  were  never  many  people — the  long 
street  of  elegant  habitations  among  which  stood  her 
own  that  was  to  be.  This  led  to  a  suburb ;  then,  after 
miles,  to  a  wooded  hill  and  a  lake  inclosed  by  stone 
banks  for  city  drinking.  As  she  walked,  Grace  was 
not  only  trying  to  think  things  out  and  come  to  some 
definiteness  about  her  best  course:  she  was  also  com- 
bating the  soul-sickness  born  of  Lydia's  holding  up 

51 


MISS  IXGALIS 

the  sacred  past  in  so  hateful  a  li<:ht ;  she  v         rrug- 
ing  to  subdue  the  burning  in  her  breast  of  wrath 

■  I  indignation. 

That  there  was  Clare  in  the  world- that  she  n 
happy  in  Ids  love,  and  wore  in  token  of  it.  pinned  to 
the  front  of  ber  coat,  violets  whose  odor  was  counted 
upon  to  keep  ber  in  mi        E  it  all  day  long— did  do! 

make  any  differ  in  the  hurt  of  having  Lydia  think 

of  ber  and  the  n  bad  shown  thai  ahe  did. 

The  most  horrible  fact  was  to  know  that  Lydis  ear 
ried  all  that  of  injury  within  her,  even  when 

thin^  ran   smoothly  and  ahe  remained  silent;   the 

most    ama/niL'    W8J    '      think    that    Lydia    was    si- 

in  all   that  d  about   her  father  and   mother  and 

er.     Lydia  fell  that  ahe  i       right,  even  .'i    I 
knew  that  al        is  wronu.     It  was  enough  to  drive 
one  quite  mad.  .  .  .  With  i         sliding  inattentively 
•  the  bricks  <»f  the  sidewalk,  I  I  ramped  quickly 

along,  goaded  by  those  thoughts  which  are  enough  to 
drive  one  mad. 

she  did  not  believe  herself  as  selfish  as  Lydia  said, 
but  she  knew  she  was  oftm  forgetful,  absorbed  in 
whatever  at   the  moment    inb  1   her.    She   w 

caught  in  this  and  brought  I  of  sin  too  often 

qoI  1  I  humble.  STet,  knowing  jusl  how  it  hap- 
pened and  how  compatible  it  was  with  a  Btrong  desire 
to  I"*  nice  to  everybody,  particularly  to  Lydia,  she 
could  not  feel  it  to  be  unpardonable  or  heinous.  Now, 
while  walking  in  meditation,  she  was  forced  to  recog- 


MISS  INGALIS  53 

nize  that  she,  too,  had  dreadful  thoughts  about  Lydia 
sometimes — she  had  them  at  this  moment — thoughts 
as  cruel  as  Lydia 's  about  her.  Only  she  never  said 
them.  She  would  have  been  afraid  to  say  them,  with 
the  stronger  woman  sure  to  turn  upon  her  and  say 
worse. 

But  that  was  not  the  whole  truth.  She  could  not 
have  wished  to  wound  as  much  as  the  publishing  of 
her  inedited  thoughts  in  moments  of  grievance  and 
excitement  would  have  wounded.  Her  cowardice  was 
not  greater  than  her  charity.  Moreover,  she  retained, 
however  angry,  the  understanding  that  it  would  be 
wronging  herself  and  the  other  to  let  thoughts  and 
words  represent  her  that  had  no  place  in  her  calmer 
hours.  Between  thinking  and  uttering  her  thoughts 
there  was  a  margin  where  the  precepts  for  right  con- 
duct dwelt,  whose  voice  she  could  still  hear  above  pas- 
sion; and  these  precepts  established  that  to  create  a 
piece  of  ugliness,  such  as  a  wrangle,  was  a  thing 
which,  while  one  retained  the  control  of  oneself  and 
the  dream  of  a  serene  and  seemly  world,  one  did  not 
consent  to  do. 

Lydia — who  spoke  her  mind,  she! — had  simpler 
mental  motions.  She  never  examined  their  origin. 
Why  should  she,  with  the  inborn,  lifelong,  and  flaw- 
less conviction  of  her  own  right-mindedness? 

"In  such  a  little  while,  less  than  a  month,"  Grace 
reflected  at  last,  ' '  Lydia  will  be  going  far  away ;  and 
when  I  am  not  there  to  irritate  her,  time  will  soften 


54  MISS  [NGALIS 

everything  in  her  memory.    And   1  shall   rememl 
how  1  my  dresses  for  me,  and  ironed  my 

handkerchiefs,  and  Lei  me  sleep  in  the  morning,  and 
a  thousand  other  rly  things,  and  the  picture  of 
this  day  will  fade. 

In  less  than  a  month  I  With  what  confusing  rapid- 
ity things  had  been  happening  to  her,  [f  made  one 
dizzy.  Burling  her  clothes  into  a  trunk  for  the  v7es1 
Indies,  becoming  en  i.  and  now  the  whole  back- 
ground of  her  lit'.-  crumbling  t<»  mas  m  for  things 
still  onimagined  !  .  .  .  .  For  w hal  tliin. 

Thai  j<>\\  the  question  :  where  to  go,  how  to  live, 

after  the  Poor       ftt    The  boarding-house  was  the 

•  choice,  the  do  choii  Lamont  1 

i  .  who  would  bo  surely  have  given  her  ho 

pitalityl  ...  A  minut<  imong  hei      quaint- 

ana  the;  irere  dc4  numerous  had  no  more  result 
than  her  I        brief  review  of  them:  nol  any  of  them 

re  sufficiently  close  friends  to  ask  a  favor  of. 

Her  thoughl  stopped  on  Andreas  Dane.  Had  not 
one  of  the  girls  at  the  art  school  told  her  that  his 
mother  lei  room  With  quickened  interest  she  fol- 
lowed this  thread,  and  passed,  exploring,  through  a 
picture-world  of  her  creation.  Hi>  mother  would  be 
Bure    to    be    motherly;    his    home    would    have    the 

[uisites  that  were  her  requisites,  too.  Bui  do,  it 
would  n<>t  do.  There  were  reasons  why  it  would  not 
do.     A  pity,  for  it  might  have  filled  her  Deed. 

Though  she  could       I    Lydia's  poinl  of  vi         ad 


MISS  INGALIS  55 

find  Lydia's  action  natural,  it  was  bitter  to  be  moved 
just  now  from  the  decencies  of  her  home  to  the  un- 
picturesque  promiscuousness  of  a  boarding-house. 
Clare  had  known  her  such  a  little  while;  his  family 
and  friends  did  not  know  her  at  all  in  her  true  set- 
ting, and  now  would  never  do  so.  Her  home  was 
not  that  of  money-rich  people,  but  it  was  something 
much  better  in  being  that  of  nice  people,  with  an- 
cestors and  traditions  and  education  and  old  furni- 
ture. She  was  proud  of  being  her  father's  daugh- 
ter; their  house,  in  a  manner,  stood  for  him.  Clare, 
in  coming  to  see  her  there,  was  not  stooping.  A 
sensitive  nerve  in  her  winced  at  the  picture  of  him 
calling  on  her  in  a  boarding-house,  with  its  hodge- 
podge of  properties,  its  odor  of  meals,  its  prying  and 
gossiping  fellow  boarders.  She  had  no  experience  of 
boarding-houses,  and  carried  in  her  mind  a  distasteful 
caricature  of  them.  A  tortured  self-love  filled  her  in 
anticipation  with  the  burning  of  a  permanent  blush. 
With  this  trial  ahead  to  meet  unaided,  already  she 
felt  lonely — and  rather  appalled;  because  never  had 
she  been  without  someone  to  take  care  of  her.  She 
did  not  know  what  it  was  to  take  care  of  herself,  even 
for  a  day.  During  all  her  childhood  there  had  been 
near  her  that  dear  mother  to  whom  she  still  jealously 
apportioned  half  of  her  filial  affection,  though  the 
father  who  had  had  so  much  larger  a  share  in  her  life, 
after  she  began  to  think,  had  become  the  closer  com- 
rade,  the   dominant   influence.     After  her   mother's 


56  MISS  [NGALIS 

death  her  father  had  been  there;  he  had  not  Bent  her 
away  to  school  or  college,  but  had  kepi  her  with  him 
for  the  eomforl  of  both.  Finally,  and  up  to  this  day. 
there  had  been  Lydia  to  direei  and  Bcold  her,  but 
Likewise  to  stand,  with  her  Longer  knowledge  ..t'  lit'.', 
between   her  and   th<    difficull  world.    There  are  bo 

many    things    a    lt i r  1    cannot    know.      A    girl    is    timid 

abonl  bo  many  tiling.  And  now,  ignorant,  unprac- 
tised, she  was  to  decide  everything,  be  responsible 

for  ythii:  If. 

I  i  But  something  warned 

r  that  this  was  dii         I :  it  was  not  such  wisdom 
his  that  a  youi  d  to  walk  by. 

'•It  is  tin.  hr.i .  ace  thought,  because 

she  felt  so  much  fear  in  Looking  ahead  at  those  da; 
after  the  famil         irroundings  had  vanished  and  the 
ailiar  folks  had  fled.     H<  r  father  had  said  thai  you 
might  1.        .11  the  virt  pi  courage  and  the  mo- 

ment might   come  when  all  your  virtues  would  be 

made  void   for  lack  of  that  one.      1I--  had   tried   to  im 

plant  courage  in  her,  knowing  deficient  in  it. 

sin-  held  com  in  ideal  he  had  given  to  her, 

pired  toward  it  when  she  felt  her  i  I  til- 

ing. 

'"It  is  tune  to  be  brai •  said. 

Sudden  and  unlooked-for  came  the  need  to  spread 

r  umbrella.      At   t!  she  turned  and.  be- 

neath the  pattering  tent,  went   back  over  th<        ne 

road,  with  the   pain   >1.  oul    to  walk  oil'  a 


MISS  INGALIS  57 

good  deal  deadened.  A  star  shone  through  the  melt- 
ing tempest,  of  whose  shining  behind  the  clouds  she 
had  not  at  any  moment  lost  consciousness.  Clare 
was  coming  to  take  her  to  a  concert  that  evening. 

She  decided  not  to  say  a  word  of  the  change  in 
prospect.  She  shrank  from  talking  about  it  with  him 
just  yet,  lest  some  remark  of  his  draw  forth  awkward 
admissions  from  her — lest,  in  brief,  being  prejudiced 
in  her  favor,  he  should  fail  to  get  the  Poors'  point  of 
view  and  be  disposed  to  criticize  them,  in  his  frank 
way.  He  was  not  much  taken  with  Lydia  and  Batey, 
she  feared — at  which  she  genuinely  wondered,  be- 
cause when  the  Poors  went  with  her  to  the  family 
dinner  at  the  Overcomes'  they  both  made  such  a  fine 
appearance.  Batey  was  distingushed,  if  nothing  else, 
and  Lydia,  in  her  severe  way,  had  looked  on  that  occa- 
sion so  handsome. 

She  would  not  say  a  word  about  the  new  plans  that 
evening,  but  after  coming  in  she  would  write.  Her 
mind  was  clearest  late  at  night,  when  all  the  world 
was  still;  she  was  least  sleepy  then.  She  would  ex- 
plain everything,  and  so  present  it  to  Clare  in  that 
letter  that  he  would  see  all  in  the  right  light,  and  not 
blame  her  people  any  more  than  she  blamed  them 
when  she  was  regarding  them — as  she  hoped  to  do,  in 
time,  altogether — calmly  and  unselfishly. 

She  let  herself  in  with  a  latch-key,  and  was  placing 
her  umbrella  in  the  stand  when  she  perceived  in  it  a 


58  MISS   INGALIS 

wet  umbrella  strange  to  her:  a  handsome  umbrella 
with  a  solid  Bilver  knob,  an  elegant  3  um- 

brella, large  for  a  woman,  though  anal]  for  a  man. 
Whose! 

Thi        oer  was  in  the  drawing-room,  talking  with 
Lydia.    Qra         old  hear  them,  but  ao1  what  they 

d.     Nor  could  1  whoc  it  was. 

She  up  the  stairs,  when  Lydia  came 

to  the  door  and  called : 

Mf  in   1  lira  \'.iu ter  is  hi 

Mrs.   v  *  '  .    (  Hare's  Bister  Theresa, 

< ;  d  in  to  see  her,  with  the  abundanl  joy- 

I'ulncss  that  attends  any  boon  after  a  Lonely  hunt  with 
Tl.  from  the  Brsl  minute  been 

irmly  welcoming.    She  \\.  one  who  had  made 

If  the  repi  family  t«»  < Clarence's 

•  rothecL 

She  looking  woman  1        rty-five,  with  an 

attracts  r  of  physical  soundness,  noi  a  thread  nf 
gray  in  her  black  hair,  oor  any  diminution  of  Liveli- 
9  in  her  black  eye.  H-t  smile  was  immensely 
cheering,  and  was  used  t<»  cheer  you  all  the  while  she 
talked  in  her  vivacious,  hearty  way.    She  could  ad- 

mit    that    the   World    was   a    vah'  <>:  •  •    had    Dot 

an  ezcuf  >r  it,  on  the  contrary;  hut  she  in- 

duced you,  while  with  her,  to  do  a-  Bhe  did.  and  get 
BOD  m1   m  spite  of  it. 

he  arose  t<>  b         .  .      and — 


MISS  INGALIS  59 

"What  is  this  I  hear?"  she  began  at  once,  breezily. 
"Your  sister  tells  me  that  she  is  leaving,  and  that 
you  are  thinking  of  going  somewhere  to  board.  My 
dear  child,  how  could  such  an  idea  enter  your  little 
head  or  your  sister's?  You  are  going  to  do  noth- 
ing of  the  kind.  You  are  coming  right  to  your  right- 
ful family.  Do  you  think  Red  would  hear  of  anything 
else  ? ' ' 

"Red?" 

"My  brother,  whom  in  your  quaint  little  way  you 
call  Clare.  Our  house  is  big, — you  saw  it, — and  it  is 
elastic.  We  have  plenty  of  room.  When  necessary, 
the  girls  double  up.  Think  how  we  should  feel,  child, 
to  have  you  go  to  anybody  else ! ' ' 

Grace,  a  little  dazed  again,  smiled  foolishly,  without 
stirring.  Her  eyes  moved  from  Theresa  to  Lydia. 
She  saw  from  Lydia 's  face  that  all  had  been  settled 
between  them  before  she  came  in.  The  smile  began 
to  tremble  on  her  lips;  a  quick  moisture  gathered  in 
her  eyes.  So  the  terrors  besieging  her  had  been 
ghosts.  That  burden  of  trouble,  so  real  to  her,  had 
been  of  a  kind  to  drop  and  be  lost  in  the  sea  at  the  end 
of  an  hour.     How  phantasmagorical  is  this  world. 

Theresa,  seeing  her  tears,  so  easy  to  interpret,  took 
her  comfortingly  in  her  arms. 

"I  think  I  see  her,  Red's  dainty  little  sweetheart, 
in  a  stuffy  old  boarding-house!"  she  petted  her. 

Grace  returned  her  kiss  affectionately,  and  let  her 


60  MISS  [NGALIS 

head  Lie  on  the  other's  shoulder;  through  the  whisper 
of  silk  she  could  hear,  deep  down,  Theresa's  muffled 

krt-beats.  .  .  . 

She  felt,  <>t*  a  sudden,  that  she  must  tree  herself  or 
smother.    She  \\a>  frightened. 

In  the  midst  of  her  Belf-abandonmenl  to  relief  and 

ratitude,  she  was  frightened.    Things  were  going  too 

fast,  her  destiny  was  i ii» •  \  i 1 1 lt  too  fast,  by  too  great 

pa.     it  did  no1  give  her  time  to  breathe,  to  think, 
•   way.  .  .  . 

Nothing  nicer  could  have  happened  than  this,  obvi- 
ously thai  th(  0  ercomes  should  take  her  to  live 
with  them  until  her  marriag  fright  came  in 

part    bom   the   recognition   that,   between   Tl 
amiability  and  her  own,         could  Dot  help  herself. 
She  was  a>  much  bound  *  had  been  de 

livered  over  by  Lydia,  with  hands  and  feet  tied. 

This  condition  lasted  but  a  second. 

,v       '  she  mentally  talked  back  to  her  bad  aei 
tii  I  am  free.    '  >f  course  I  am  free  ;  and  t  hi 

nothing  I  bad  rather  do  than  go  to  stay  with  CI 

!  |     ■ 


w 


CHAPTER  VI 

HEN  it  came  to  a  division  of  the  things  that 
had  belonged  to  them  in  common,  it  was  de- 
cided that,  as  Grace  would  be  so  well  pro- 
vided for,  Lydia  should  take  very  nearly  the  whole 
of  the  furniture  for  her  home  down  South.  Grace 
should  have  the  books,  all  of  them,  and  Lydia  most  of 
the  silver ;  Grace  her  father 's  writing-desk,  Lydia  her 
mother's  India  shawl. 

The  books  had  been  packed  in  many  boxes,  and 
carted,  on  Clarence's  suggestion,  to  his  new  house, 
along  with  the  worn  old  mahogany  desk.  Furniture 
and  crockery  and  household  stuff  of  every  sort  had 
been  crated  and  burlaped  and  barreled,  conveyed  and 
piled  into  a  roomy  freight-car.  And  the  house  stood 
empty. 

When  there  was  nothing  more  to  do  in  preparation 
for  leaving,  Grace  went  slowly  from  floor  to  floor,  in 
a  little  sentimental  journey  of  last  farewells.  She  had 
been  at  times  so  busy,  and  at  other  times  so  tired,  dur- 
ing the  great  dismantling,  that  she  had  seemed  to 
herself  surprisingly  dead  with  regard  to  it  all.  Now 
she  tried  to  penetrate  herself  with  feelings  appro- 
priate to  the  hour,  go  piously  over  the  memories  at- 

61 


f>2  MISS  [NGALIS 

tached  to  each  room,  imprint  on  hor  mind  the  bare 

ill-papers  and  floors,  last  aspecl  of  the  friendly, 
sheltering  house         ion  to  become  ;i  Btranger. 

In  t;  that  had  been  Lydia 'a  bedroom,  she 

found  her  sister,  sitting  on  a  trunk.     Batey  and  she 
were  going  to  a  hotel  for  the  last  night,  before  start- 
ing on  their  journey.    Grace  v.         -in ■_-  on  that 
afternoon  to  th<   Ovei         i\    The  1  '<  >ra  had  refue 
th'   (i  ercome  invitation  to  dinner  that  evening — the 

tlity  beneath  their  •  ■••  being  Lydia 'a  idiosyn- 
cratic desire  to  dine  alone  with  her  husband,  at  a  ho- 
tel, and  !>••  reminded  of  tl  meymoon  ! 

had  gone  out  to  or- 
der 

Lydii        i  already  put  her  hat  on.    i  looked 

at  her  with  much  the  >rrowfu]  t< 

e  had  been  spending  on  the  things  that  ~;        ould 

•  no  She  said  to  herself,  however,  to  keep 

from  ti  that  in  the  case  of  Lydia  it  would  only  be 
a  q  year  or  tv. 

In  t;  3  just  past  Grace  had  largely  lost   i 

membranes  of  Lydia's  brutally  frank  BpeaMng  and 
unfair  interpretations.  Lydia,  in  her  own  way.  had 
been  th<  si  r,  saving  the  younger  fatigue  and 

trouble,  taking  thought  for  her,  as  a  matter  of  cour 
But  there  was  more  than  that  I        dear  Lydia  at  this 
moment — Bat  y,  I    >:  the  prospect  of  a  change,  new 
faces  ai         rtures  new,  the  hope  of  1    t1   r  fortune,  the 

hilaration  of  a  little  power  in  hand,  in  the  form  of 


MISS  INGALIS  63 

money,  lighted  the  faces  of  both  in  a  manner  that 
made  them  touching — to  Grace,  at  least,  whose  spirit 
had  so  often  been  weighed  down  by  the  misfortunes 
and  dejection  of  her  relatives. 

She  seated  herself  on  the  trunk  beside  Lydia.  For 
a  few  minutes  they  remained  silent,  thinking,  Grace 
supposed,  the  same  thoughts.  In  this  supposition, 
she  pushed  her  hand  into  Lydia 's,  to  show  that  she 
understood,  and  to  comfort  her. 

Lydia  returned  the  pressure,  and  said,  with  an 
effect  of  sudden  resolve : 

"Grace,  there  is  something  I  have  been  wanting  to 
ask  you.  And  I  haven't  done  it,  for  fear  you  would 
misunderstand." 

"Misunderstand,  Lydia?  How  could  you  think 
such  a  thing — if  by  misunderstanding  you  mean  mis- 
judging your  motives?     "What  is  it?" 

"It's  this,  Grace.  In  a  few  months  you  will  be  a 
married  woman,  wife  of  a  rich  man,  and  have  every- 
thing heart  could  desire.  The  little  bit  of  money  you 
have  in  your  own  right  you  won't  need." 
You  mean  Papa's  life  insurance?" 
Yes.  It  would  merely  lie  in  the  bank,  bringing 
you  a  tiny  interest,  if  it  brought  you  any  at  all. 
Whereas,  if  you  lent  it  to  Batey  and  me,  we  should 
be  glad  to  give  you  good  interest  for  it.  Of  course, 
any  time  you  wanted  it  back  we  should  manage  some- 
how to  pull  it  out  of  the  business  and  let  you  have 
it.    We  should  give  you  as  security  a  claim  on  all  we 


a 

t  < 


64  MISS  IN6AUS 

•  •wri.    Th>        -  the  furniture  and  the  silver — every 
thing." 

lent,  taken  aback. 

Lydia  went  on:    "Of  course,  if  you  don't  want  to, 
you   don't    have   to.   and    vou    won't.     Only,    I    wi 
thinking:  the  little  bit  more  would  make  a  big  dif- 

rence  to  us,  and  1  don't  Bee  what  difference  it  could 
make  to  vou. 

■ 

"Wait,  Lydia.    Give  me  a  moment  to  think.     How 

can    I    make  up  my  mind  so  quickl) 

11  Take  j  our  I  1  don  't  want  to  m 

yOU,  anyhow.      Nor  do   I    want  lk   it   a^  a   particu- 

lar  favor.      V  ulil    have   the   il  t,    von    would 

have  the  security  ;  it  \s  a  bus  i  ion,  like  any 

other.     My  being  your  eed  n't  influence  you 

Wait  a  minute.  Lydia;  let  me  think.'* 
Ton  would  keep  enough  out  of  it,  ol  course,  to 
•  your  wedding  outfit  and  give  you  Bpending  mom 

until  you  marry.      A   thousand  dollars  ought   to  do  it 

handsomely,  because  you  won':  oeed  furs  or  laces  or 
jewelry:  all  those  things  will   l>c  Bhowered  on  you. 

Think   of   thi  of   that    family,    and    their    wealth. 

and  then  think  of  tic  wedding  presents  you  are  likely 
to  re 

"But    just    because    Clare    is    BO    rich.    Lydia.    don't 

.  I  Bhould  Like  to  come  to  him  not  quite  like  a 

"D   BShe  know  you  have  any  thin:         Have  you  told 
him  about  the  life  iii.siirai: 


MISS  INGALIS  65 

"No.     We  've  never  spoken  of  money  together." 

"If  you  think,  my  dear,  that  a  paltry  five  thousand 
dollars  would  make  the  slightest  difference  to  Clar- 
ence Overcome —  You  must  know  that  that  ring  on 
your  finger  can't  be  worth  much  less.  Later  in  life, 
when  you  've  been  married  for  some  time,  you  '11  be 
much  more  likely  to  be  glad  of  a  little  money  in  your 
private  exchequer — to  pay  a  dressmaker's  bill,  per- 
haps, that  's  grown  so  big  you  're  afraid  of  a  scolding 
even  from  the  fondest  of  husbands.  If  you  have  the 
money  now — I  know  you,  my  child — it  will  melt 
through  your  fingers  to  the  last  penny,  for  nothing. 
If  you  do  us  this  good  turn,  you  will  really  be  doing 
yourself  a  far  better  one." 

Grace  sat  looking  down,  thinking  it  over,  with  a 
shadow  on  her  face.  She  wanted  so  much  to  keep  her 
money,  the  first  she  had  ever  possessed,  and  by  means 
of  it  to  appear  well  among  the  Overcomes.  The 
pleasure  of  having  money  of  her  own  was  new :  Lydia 
had  turned  it  over  to  her  only  a  day  or  two  before. 

She  remembered  an  episode  in  the  life  of  a  queen 
of  France  who,  when  she  crossed  the  border  of  her 
husband's  country,  the  land  over  which  she  was  to 
reign,  changed  all  the  clothes  on  her  body  for  other 
clothes,  of  his  giving.  One  who  loved  her  as  much 
as  Clare  did  would  be  glad  to  take  her  like  that,  with 
nothing  of  her  own,  and  to  give  her  everything. 
Clare  so  loved  to  give  her  things !  And  the  prospect 
of  utter  dependence  on  him  had  its  special  quality  of 


Mi  MISS   [N6ALIS 

iweetnei  But  yet,  she  would  have  liked  to  hold  on  to 
her  pennies,  and  be  generous  with  them  in  her  turn. 
Hut  yet  again,  she  had  Clare'a  love  what  did  Bhe 
need  mor<  Ami  poor  Lydia  had  nothing  hut  this 
new  chance,  <>i"  which  she  was  rightly  anxious  to  make 
the  moat  I >\ « 1  i a  loved  Batey — stran  i  il  Beamed 
— just  as  Bhe  I"\'  i  lare.  This  additional  money 
would  perhaps  add  to  the  chance  of  Batey 'a  sue 

Grace  turned  t<>  look  at  Lydia.     It  was  Lydia  who 
now   was   looking   down,   thinking   it    over,   with    a 
shadow  on  her  face,  a  bitter  twist  to  her  mouth.    She 
was  thinking,  Grace  felt  it,  how  selfish  her  sister  w 
— how  selfish  Bhe  had  always  1 n. 

Grace  wanted  to  say,  "if  1  give  you  this  money, 

which    I    want   so  mm-h   to  keep,   will   you   promif 

wipe  out  all  that  old  thinking  of  me  Will 

you  n gnize  in  it  a  sign  that  I  you,  and  want 

to  h<  rly,  and  want  you  to  •  I  and  he  happy. 

and  love  me  ! 

But  those  things  she  could  not  say  to  Lydia 

though,  when  at  Grace 'a  clearing  her  voice  to  Bpea 
Lydia  looked  op,  they  were  plainly  to  he  read  in  her 
shiny  young  i 

"All    right,    dear."    Bhe    said;    "yon    Can    have    it. 
What    must    1    d  Write   you    a    el 

Lydia  was  moved.      With  an  impulse  of  sincere  af- 

•timi.  sip-  clasped  the  little  sister's  oeck  and  k 

her  hard.  When  they  drew  apart,  each  saw,  with 
trembling  Bmiles,  tears  in  the  other' 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  house  of  the  Overcomes  stood  at  the  corner 
of  a  block,  where  the  broad  street,  one  of  the 
city's  main  arteries,  grew  quieter  as  it  neared 
the  suburbs,  and — taking  time  to  breathe,  as  it  were, 
and  remember  its  youth — leaved  forth  here  and  there 
in  a  green  square,  a  little  park,  with  a  fountain  and 
garden-seats  under  the  trees.  The  house,  a  hand- 
some structure  of  brownstone  and  brick,  five  stories 
high  counting  basement  and  mansard,  rose  on  its  own 
ample  lot,  inclosed  by  a  wall  of  brick  and  brown- 
stone  topped  by  an  iron  railing. 

A  house  built  by  individuals  to  meet  individual  re- 
quirements, and  not  by  a  compan}^,  for  rent.  It 
expressed,  if  one  chose,  power  and  pride;  it  had  the 
air  somewhat  of  a  stronghold,  and  could,  in  fact,  be- 
come a  species  of  castle  with  drawbridge  updrawn,  if 
one  closed  the  iron  gate  made  to  span  the  interrup- 
tion in  the  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  front  stoop.  This 
gate,  however,  stood  continually  open,  and  any  passer 
with  curiosity  enough  and  little  enough  fear  could 
have  entered,  passed  along  the  side  of  the  house,  and 
seen  all  that  the  wall  hid:  a  wide  rectangular  lawn 
with  one  spreading  tree,  encircled  at  the  foot  by  a 

67 


68  MISS  [NGALIS 

ru.sti  and,  at  tlif  farther  end  of  the  green,  COB- 

stitutin  hack    wall,    a    low    building    with    dosed 

wooden  shutters — a  warehouse,  possibly. 

Grace,  arriving  late,  was  given  hut  a  minute  before 
being        rted  to  the  dinner-table.    Clare  met  her  at 

the  stair-. 

"Welcome,  0  Beauty,  to  the  house  of  your  Beast l1 

-aid.  and  drew  h»T  hand  through  his  arm. 

Mr-.  Vawter  sat  at  one  end  of  the  board,  in  what 
was  the  chief  seat,  by  token  of  the  carving  knife  and 
rk  laid  before  it.    She  placed  Grace  at  her  right, 
een  herself  and  ( Harem 

'•  Y"ii  SHOW  them  all."  she  indicated  tin-  rest  of  tic 

family;  '"hut  there  are  so  many  of  us.  you  ean'1  he 

pected  to  disentangle  djb  and  <>ur  relationshi] 
early  in  the  day.     Now,  listen.     Prom  left  to  right. 
This  Lb  Sim,  or  Simeon,  my  husband.    Thai  i^  Fanny, 
more  often  called  Pinky — mine,  and  I  am  proud  of  it. 
\  her  Lb  Dolores,  my  Bister-in-law.    She  and  all 

that  end  of  the  table  are  Overcom<  Wnatever  in 
this  house  isn't  Vawter  is  Overcome.)  Uncle  Syl- 
vanua,  my  uncle  and  the  young  <mrs"  great-uncle;  Re- 
i.  Black's  daughter;  Black  himself,  head  of  the 
house,  hut  leaving  me,  as  yon  see,  to  do  tie-  carvii 
.\l.N-.  hi  :.  and  Junior,  another  son  <>f  his.  Then, 
oexl  to  Bed,  another  chick  of  mine.  Seetah,  short  for 
Tereaita,  'little  Theresa1  -we  're  both  Theresa,  you 
And  there  yon  are." 

lira  :  rained   from   asking   about   the   little  j^irl 


MISS  INGALIS  69 

sitting  at  a  small  table  alone,  lest  the  explanation 
of  her  exile  involve  some  disgrace.  She  had  not  seen 
this  member  of  the  family  before. 

Theresa  remembered  her  after  a  moment. 

"And  that  is  Mabel,"  she  said — "My  youngest  ex- 
cept Bobby,  who  is  away  at  school." 

"Zip,  how  are  you  getting  along?"  Clare  asked 
over  his  shoulder. 

"You  '11  have  to  give  me  something  for  this,  Uncle 
Red ! ' '  said  the  little  girl  at  the  separate  table,  in  the 
manner  of  a  spoiled  child.  She  looked  toward  him 
with  an  air  of  injury. 

"If  you  don't  behave  yourself  I  '11  give  you  some- 
thing!" Clare  promised,  with  grim  jocularity. 

"You  '11  have  to  give  me  some  new  roller-skates,  or 
else  a  new  croquet  set,"  proceeded  the  little  girl,  un- 
alarmed.  "I  tell  you,  Uncle  Red,  I  mean  it.  If  you 
don't,  you  '11  see.     I— I  '11—" 

"I  '11  hang  you  up  by  the  heels,  young  lady,  if  you 
aren't  careful." 

"You  'd  better  promise,  Uncle  Red.  I  'm  not 
afraid  of  you,  and  you  know  it." 

"Can't  you  guess" — Clare  turned  to  Grace — "why 
the  sweet  and  winsome  Mabel  sits  over  there?  It  's 
because  she  does  n  't  know  how  to  feed  herself ;  she  lets 
the  gravy  run  down  on  her  bib." 

"No,  it's  not!"  cried  Mabel.  "It's  because 
there  'd  be  thirteen  at  the  table.  There !  Now,  Uncle 
Red,  how  do  you  like  it  ¥ " 


70  MISS   [NGALIS 

He  laughed  oul  gaily.  "The  tension  is  Lessened] 
And  1  'in  in  a  croquel  set  Qol  the  better  of  yon  that 
time,  you  little  blackmailer,  did  n  't  1 

"Blackmailer  yourself!"  shouted  Zip.  "You're 
a  mean,  mean,  mean,  dirty —  ' ' 

■  My  child,  my  child!'    Thi  hushed  her,  with- 

out ceasin  "What  do  you  Buppose  Mi 

I    gabs  will  think  .  " 

••Ml    jalis    •■         '  ands, ' '  ( Irace  turned  sooth- 
ingly toward  the  child, — "and  thinks  there  is  much  to 
u  your  Bide.     It  is  I.  who  have  driven  yen  out 

your  pi  •  table,  who  ought  to  make  it  righl 
with  you.  Which  do  you  want  most,  dear,  the  cro- 
quet or  th( 

Zi]  I   si   her,  as  if  plumbing  h<         al.       1 

don't  wanl  eith(  '  sh<  l  after  a  moment,  and  at- 
tended in  Bilence  to  hi         d. 

•  I  itious  too,'    said  Therec 

"but.  if  von  aren'1  you  must  n't  think  we  're  all  of 
as  afraid  of  being  thirteen  at  table.     Dolores  is  the 
only  one  who  really         3.     Aren't   you,    Dol 
Dolores  doesn't  mind  I      j   called  ^u  j>fr^t  it  ion-. ' 

e  looked  the  table  at  the  one  in  question, 

who  was  quietly  eating,  with  her  eyes  on  her  plate, 
and  not  saying  anything  for  herself  in  reply  to  the 
charge  of  n.    Gra  k  her  to  be  of  a  dif- 

ferent rai  Spanish,  perhaps,  like  her  name  She 
had  prematurely  white  hair — Btriking,  with  her  black 
» yes.     Her  face  was  deeply  lined  in  forms  suggestive 


MISS  INGALIS  71 

of  old  griefs;  the  pouches  under  her  eyes  might  be 
imagined  to  have  been  enlarged  by  containing  tears. 
The  broad,  lowered  eyelids  gave  to  her  face  at  that 
moment  unusual  dignity;  the  silver  crucifix  on  her 
breast  helped  further  to  make  her  interesting  to 
Grace.  It  was  difficult  to  tell  why  Dolores  looked  of 
minor  importance  among  the  rest,  for  all  the  air  of 
aristocracy  which  she  alone  wore.  A  matter  of  per- 
sonal caliber,  perhaps.  She  had  domesticated  trag- 
edy and  made  sorrow  tame.  Grace  felt  much  sym- 
pathy for  her,  a  widow,  a  Catholic  among  Protestants. 
She  said,  speaking  toward  her : 

"I  am  superstitious,  too.  I  don't  want  to  be  thir- 
teen at  table,  either.  Because" —  she  justified  her 
attitude — "you  can't  sit  down  thirteen  at  table  and 
not  be  thinking  of  it,  more  or  less,  and  I  don't  want 
to  think  of  death  at  dinner.  But  it  's  a  shame  the 
littlest  one  should  pay  for  everybody.  I  '11  take 
turns  with  you,  Mable.  I  '11  sit  at  the  little  table 
next  time — your  Uncle  Red  with  me.  Is  it  all  right, 
Clare  ? ' ' 

"Your  ideas  are  inspirations,  O  princess  of  ro- 
mance ! ' ' 

"Why" —  Grace  turned  to  Theresa — "why  is  it  you 
call  him  Red  ? " 

"For  the  best  reason  possible.     It  's  his  name." 

"His  name?" 
His  middle  name,  or  the  first  syllable  of  it." 
Oh!     I   thought   his   middle   name   was   Robert. 


MISS  [NGALIS 
Mrs.  Lament  was  under  the  impression  that  hifl  middle 

initial  Btood  for  Robert." 

"No;  it  stands  for  Redivivus.  Clarence  Redivivus 
Overcome.  Mother  had  her  way  aboul  calling  him 
Clarence  name  Bhe  just  had  a  fancy  for;  there 
was  never  anyone  belonging  to  her  <>r  to  father  called 
Clarenci  Then  father,  suspecting  it  was  hifl  lasl 
chance  to  name  any  son  of  fa  lid  it'  he  let  her  have 
Clarence  she  must  let  him  I  Redivivus,  which  he 
had  been  trying  in  vain  to  I  i  on  to  the  b 
after  the  otl  1  've  heard  the  name 

till    I    don't    know    what    it    BOUndfl   1  ik«-      1    gueflfl    it 

funny,  the  first  tin  it  the  short  for  it  is  all  right 

\i  I  a  .1  g     1  name     Our  mother  died  not  lonj»  af t< 
\i  d  s  birth,  >  i  he  b  d  called  <  Harenee  in 

the  family.     Father  thought  it  1." 

"Red  an»l  Black,  I  without  comment, 

and  turned  her  I      .  with  a  smile  that  sought  favor, 
toward  tiif  head  of  the  house,  i  at,  rather 

grand  in  her  ad  a  shade  formidable.     II 

led  by  aa  much         smile         pray  business  man 
ip  a  little  girl,  but  left  it  to  Th<  i  go  on 

with  the  talking. 

Oh,  Black  ia  a  family  name,'1  the  latter  willingly 
continued.    "Father's  name  was  Ji  ther  al- 

ways called  this  Jess<      Black's        I  nan  Jesse — 

Jesse  I  '.lack,  to  distinguish  them;  then  it  got  to  be  just 
tck.     Red  and  Black.     1 1  s  a  happen.' 
"Black      Overcome.     Red  K  becca, 


MISS  INGALIS  73 

Black's  low-browed  daughter,  spoke  the  names 
thoughtfully,  as  if  holding  them  up  to  inspection  for 
a  fresh  point  of  view.  "They  sound  like  robber 
chiefs. ' ' 

Grace,  turning  in  the  direction  of  the  one  who 
spoke,  was  amused  by  the  bold  fancy  that  she  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  a  robber  chief's  daughter  of  the 
days  when  such  folk  were  romantic.  She  was  re- 
markably well  developed  at  twenty,  with  brows  and 
eyes  so  dark  they  lowered  like  a  storm-cloud,  and  lips 
trenchantly  crimson  over  teeth  that  appeared  sharp, 
the  canines  being  pointed.  Her  hair  lay  in  loose 
black  rings  all  over  her  head,  smothering  her  fore- 
head. She  should  have  had,  to  complete  her,  gold 
hoops  in  her  ears  and  a  knife  in  her  garter,  Grace 
thought. 

She  put  admiration  into  her  smile  as  she  turned  it 
upon  this  future  sister — no,  niece.  Though  Rebecca's 
eyes  met  Grace's,  they  did  not  seem  to  see  it.  She 
looked  fixedly  back  for  a  few  seconds,  then  took  her 
glance  away,  without  acknowledging  the  smile. 
Those  lustrous  orbs  must  be  short-sighted,  as  fine  eyes 
so  often  are:  thus  Grace  excused  her. 

"And  why" —  she  turned  to  Clare — "why  was 
your  father  bent  upon  calling  you  Redivivus?  Such 
a  singular  name ! ' ' 

"Oh,  that — that  's  part  of  the  family  history. 
It  's  Theresa  speaks  that  piece.  Come  on,  Theresa, 
with  the  family  history." 


71  MISS  [NGALIS 

A  dramatic  groan  rose  from  'Junior,  another  from 
Alec,  a  copy  ot  them  from  Seetah,  who  appeared  to 

faint  <>n  her  chair;  Last  and  more  of  it.  the  same  pert 

:iftly   from  Zip. 

Theresa  waved  her  hand  toward  them  all  with  un- 
broken  good  humor. 

"You  don'1  hai        Listen.    Talk  among  yourselvi 

•  your  victual  Misa  []  galis  is  one  of  the  family 
now.  and  will  be  interested,  or  if  she  isn'1  she  '11  pre- 
tend  to  he.  Miss  In^alis  isn't  like  you.  Miss  ln- 
galifi  i>  a  lady.  You  know  Latin.  I  guess,  Grace, 
Then  you  know  what  Etedivivus  means.  Well,  when 
the  fortun(  unily,  which  w(  retty  low 

.  bb,  had  begun  I  father  wanted  to 

1  it  in  the  name  of  one  of  his  children.    It  'k  the 

i  in  Bible  d  1  i 

.  Bib! 

"1  I  1.  in  her  .        and  mann< 

the   flattery   of  a    p        t    attention.    "Do   toll   me 
th<  :  it — the  \n h-  it.    of  course  1  want  to 

"Well,  then,  to  go  bad  .nin'_r.  ae  far  as 

it — t!.     ■  unily    uame   w a-    H  Y 

Buggies        Oi  about  it.    Till  one  of  them  n 

n,.         Thon       1 1        >me  B  iggles,  just  a-  Bed  was 

tiled  Etedivivus,  a  name  witli  an  idea  in  it.  They 
were  merchants,  and  aol  doing  well,  and  needed  to 
overcome   a   good   many   i  ties,   you   see,   to  get 

themselves  up  again  to  the  Level  where  they  had  used 


MISS  INGALIS  75 

to  be.  That  one,  Thomas  Overcome  Ruggles,  when 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  he  could  n  't  do  it  at  home, 
came  to  this  country,  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  years 
ago,  and  on  coming  here  dropped  his  last  name,  just 
for  luck. 

''That  was  the  first  Overcome.  But  he  didn't  do 
well,  in  spite  of  the  change,  and  died  a  disappointed 
man.  Next  we  know  of,  his  grandson,  who  was  our 
grandfather,  came  with  his  wife  and  young  children 
to  settle  in  a  place  called  Woodbury,  a  village  in  a 
farming  district  only  about  thirty  miles  from  here. 
I  don't  suppose  you  've  ever  heard  of  it.  He  got  a 
house,  and  built  a  barn,  and  planted  his  land.  He 
was  a  hard-working,  strong-headed  fellow,  they  say, 
and  ought  to  have  got  on.  Instead  of  which,  what  do 
you  suppose  ?  His  barn  caught  fire  one  night,  and  set 
fire  to  the  house,  and  both  burned  to  the  ground  with 
everything  in  them  except  the  human  beings. 
Doesn't  it  look  like  bad  luck?  Can  you  blame  him? 
When  his  wife  died  of  her  burns,  he  went  out  into  the 
wood-lot  and  hanged  himself,  leaving  those  four  young 
ones  without  a  soul  to  take  care  of  them,  or  anything 
to  do  with." 

In  spite  of  their  affectation  of  disdain,  most  of  the 
family  were  listening;  Dolores  perhaps  not,  and  Alec 
flagrantly  not.  But  Sylvanus  followed  the  story  of 
which  he  had  been  a  part  with  a  wistful  expression 
on  his  wrinkled  brown  face  which,  had  a  lace  cap 
hidden  his  hair,  might  have  been  taken  for  that  of 


16  MIS9  [NGALIS 

an  old  woman  as  well,  exactly,  as  thai  of  an  old  man. 
And   Black  listened  with  an  expression  thai   Gra 
■in-  to  know  later  as  habitual— an  effect  of  smiling 

with  solidly  closed  jaws,  when  he  was  in  reality  i 
smiling  at  all. 

"The  eldest  of  tin-  children  was  ten  ye  M  that 
was  father,1  Theresa  continued.  "The  youngest  wa> 
one;  that  was  Uncle  Sylvanua.  There  were  Aunt 
Marinda  and  Uncle  William  in  between.  The  com- 
munity didn't  know  just  what  to  do  wit  1 1  them, 

they  divided  them  Qp;  each  child  was  taken  to  live  in 

a  i  •  family.     Now.  will  yon  believe  it.  father, 

that  little  r,  made  up  his  mind  •  that  family 

of  his  r  aga         He  has  told  me  abool  it  many 

lie  w        |    it  to  work  on  a  farm,  where  he  Lrwt 
up  at  four,  and  milked  and  hoed  and  weeded  like  any 

»wn  man.     When  he  n  n  he  came  to  this  city 

.   •  two  dollars  in  his  pocket.      He  went  to  work 
in    a    dry-goodl  («ri:    did    it.    and    afterwards 

Luck.      At  thirtv  he  had  his  own  store.      Hi-  had   mar- 

ried  mother,  and  I        -<t  up  housekeeping  in  a  hon 
tear  the  docks.     We  were  all  born  there  excepl  Julia 
and  Red.     By  that  time  we  had  moved  to  a  big  hon 

out  of  town,  witli  grounds  around  it.      Mother  wanted 

to  go  where  it  was  quiet  and  she  could  have  a  garden. 
Mut  father  Liked  the  city  better,  near  his  business,  and 
•ne  y(         tfter  her  death  sold  the  other  ho         ad 
bought  this. 


MISS  INGALIS  77 

"And  here  old  man  Overcome  got  his  dream:  the 
family  around  him,  his  sister  Marinda  and  his  brother 
Sylvanus  included.  The  other  one,  Uncle  William, 
settled  out  West,  where,  with  some  help  from  father 
at  the  start,  he  has  done  almost  as  well.  This  house 
was  father's  pride.  The  feeling  that  he  'd  done  what 
he  set  out  to  do,  that  he  'd  raised  the  family  again  to 
the  place  it  used  to  have,  gave  father  a  kind  of  pride 
which  it  seems  to  me  he  had  a  right  to. 

' '  He  was  a  fine  man,  Grace.  How  he  hated  to  have 
us  quarrel !  How  he  wanted  us  to  keep  together  and 
carry  on  the  business  he  'd  built  up !  He  cared  for 
it  in  the  future  as  much  as  if  he  'd  been  going  to  be 
there  to  see  it.  In  the  same  way  he  cared  about  this 
house.  He  wanted  it  to  remain  the  home  of  the  Over- 
comes ;  so  he  fixed  it,  as  he  did  the  business,  in  such  a 
way  that  not  one  of  us  can  do  anything  without  all 
the  rest  agreeing.     We  Ve  got  to  live  united. ' 

"And  you  '11  see  how  remarkably  we  do  it" — Clare, 
judging  there  had  been  enough  of  family  chronicles, 
made  interruption.  "Don't  be  scared,  Grace,  if  you 
hear  scuffling  and  cries  of  '  Help !  Murder ! '  It  's 
only  our  gentle  fun." 

"Don't  listen  to  him,  Grace.  What  he  means,  I 
suppose,  is  that  he  and  Alec  are  great  boxers,  and 
have  impromptu  matches  now  and  then  without  the 
formalities  or  the  gloves. ' ' 

"You  needn't  fear  I  shall  take  seriously  all  that 


MISS  [NGALIS 

Clare  bs;        Grace  smiled  at  the  sister  from  a  - 
irt's  vssi  knowledge.    '"It'  I  did,  I  Bhould  believe 

range  things  I ' ' 
She  glanced  archly  at  Clare,  who  looked  back  into 
her  e;         ith  Buch  warmth  that,  remembering  the  pr 
priety  of  do!  making  love  In  the  presence  of  other 
she  turned  to  her  neighbor  beyond  Clare    Sita,  who 
leaning  forward  with  the  unconcealed  object  of 
watching  her.     By  way  of  engaging  conversation,  she 
I  whether  Sita  had  been  glad  to  Leave  school,  or 
bad  Left  it  with  regret 
sita.    nineteen,    had    regarded    herself   •  full- 

ed  young   lady    now  ine   year,   since   Bhe 

dropped  Learning  for  dressing  and  dancing  and  read 
in^    ]o\  Th'Tf    w  ■  1 1 1 •  •  1 1 1 1 1 1 lt    more    un- 

formed  aboul    Sita   than    IS   OSUSJ    with   j/irls   at    oin< 

teen.        3i1  r,1    the  family  said.     Ber  full 

and  1  '1  moist,  indicated  the  propens 

to  easy  i        m's  a'  That  sin'  was  breath- 

sly  u         ted  in  Miss  1  ogalis  v  ppa  rent  tl 

e  fell  it  the  duty  of  an  older  woman  to  reward 

I  devoted  herseli        ibly  to  a  little  intercour 
-  i      ri   s  :  r  ad  ch<    I 
When  she  thought  Bhe  1        sufficiently  been  urra- 

ihe   t;:  |   off,    '  more  of   her  mind   to 

1  talk  with  )i is  brother-in-law.     It   was  nothing 

knew   aboul  :  Mire   in   city   politl  It 

w;;>  tin  try  to  understand  these  manly 

thi 


MISS  INGALIS  79 

Black,  from  the  far  end  of  the  table,  joined  in; 
and  then  Alec.  It  was  when  Alec's  remarks  came 
out  so  high-colored  as  to  catch  attention  that  she  real- 
ized more  definitely  that  Clare's  nephew  resembled 
him  as  much  as  a  brother.  They  were  nearer  in  age 
than  Clare  and  Black,  youngest  and  eldest  of  a  long 
family.  But  how  were  Clare 's  harmonious  good  looks 
spoiled,  to  what  an  extent  was  his  charm  lost,  in  Alec, 
with  his  keener,  more  irregular  features  and  rougher 
hair !  Alec 's  nose  and  chin  were  aggressive,  where 
Clare's  were  intrepid,  alert;  his  face  was  common 
red,  where  Clare's  was  suffused  by  a  soft  glow. 
Alec's  eyes  were  the  same  fiery  blue,  but  one  of  them 
confessed  a  slight  cast;  and  his  eyebrows,  if  he 
scowled,  produced  the  effect  of  a  dog's  snarl.  Clare's 
brows  were  Olympian  in  their  authority  and  calm. 
Alec  had  not  Clare's  great  strength,  either — Grace 
was  sure  of  it.  Black  might  have  been  as  strong  once 
upon  a  time,  but  he  could  not  be  so  now.  The 
strongest  as  well  as  handsomest  of  those  strong, 
vivid  Overcomes  was  hers,  fortunate  girl. 

She  hoped  she  should  get  on  well  with  Alec  and 
Black;  with  Junior,  too.  The  latter  was  more  the 
same  kind  of  person  as  Sita — a  little  uncouth,  clumsy, 
the  least  attractive  of  the  younger  people,  in  her 
opinion.  But  she  meant  to  like  him.  She  meant  to 
like  them  all,  and  make  them  like  her.  "Thy  people 
shall  be  my  people — "  What  other  people  had  she 
now  but  these?     Her  blood  kindred,  scattered   and 


so  MISS  CNGAUg 

far,  were  very  shadowy  to  her.     Lydia,  on  the  day  to 
How,  would  ':         ceding,  receding  with  I  into 

unknown  places,  ou1  of  calculation.  Bere  was  ber 
world. 

She  had  the  imp]         n  all  through  dinner  <>f  be- 
ing watched.    She  would  catch  dow  one  glance,  dow 
another,  bent  apon  her  with  b  perceptible  fixity  of  in- 
Thej  iking   her   measure,   too,    very 

naturally.      [\   w  ;i-  \am  to  hope  they  WOUld  DC  BS  Well 

pleased  with  her  as  she  was  with  them.  Diverse  as 
they  were  among  th<  and  different  from  her, 

she  included  th<         1  in  i         pproval.    The  qualities 

amoi  filled  tl  thai 

she    could    not    per  DOl    all    jionm  >  ..  -.1 

those  qualiti<  i.     1  i  •  ich  si       ttribut 

of  Clare's  splendor  i  .  with  independent         if 

surance,  personal  things  that   won   her 

nothing  of  hen  ild  win  them,  unle  s  she  hoped, 
with  time  given     her  efforl  to  pl< 

S!  d   their   frank   enjoyment    of   rich* 

Well    SS    their    frank    avowal    of    the    pauperism    from 

which  they  !  She  rel        I  their  simple  Bat- 

faction   with   themsel         their  freedom   from   pi 
ten         If   they    lacked   something   of   culture,   tl 
lacked  oothing  of  intelligence.    She  trod  down  nar- 
row!: and    shyni  and    sensith  of    1 

own  like  onworthy  weeds,  to  rejoice  in  their  breadth 
of  nature,  their  sturdy  carelessness  of  criticism. 
Tarts   of    Shaki  plays   where    the   language    is 


MISS  INGALIS  81 

gross  but  pertinent  and  felicitous  had  given  her  pleas- 
ure of  the  same  kind  as  their  pithy,  inedited  con- 
versation. 

The  largeness  of  light  reflected  on  those  spacious 
walls,  after  her  dim  dining-room  at  home;  the  beau- 
tiful flowers  in  extravagant  abundance  on  the  table; 
the  luxury  of  the  meal ;  the  shine  of  silver  and  crys- 
tal and  damask;  the  excitement  of  the  many  people 
and  the  new  life,  had  undoubtedly  gone  a  little  to 
Grace's  head.  She  was  intoxicated,  taken  out  of  her- 
self, like  a  grub  just  sprung  from  its  cocoon  into  the 
world  of  butterflies,  when  that  evening  with  an  in- 
finity of  good  will  she  opened  her  arms  in  readiness 
to  take  to  her  breast  all  of  her  lover's  family  as  one. 


CHAPTEB  XIII 

AN  unusual  feature  of  the  Overcome  mansion 
was  the  rotunda — bo  called  for  want  of  a 
more  exact  word:  an  oval  of  Btately  dimen- 
sions,  a  story  and  a  half  bigh,  in  the  center  of  the 
building.  A  gallery  surrounded  it  at  a  third  of  i 
height,  <>n  to  which  opened  a  dozen  wide  and  dec 
tive  dooi  i '••  •  »n  the  d<»..r  thai  belonged  to  the  din- 
ing room,  and  that  waa  the  central  door  at  the  back,  a 
flight  of  ilso  v        and  decoratr      dropp 

from  the  gallery  into  what  might  1"'  called  the  pit. 
The  latter  \\  ther  dark  by  day.  receiving  its  light 
chiefly  from  twi  len  d  it  the  end  of  the  crypt- 
hk  beneath   the   dining-room,   and    for  thai 

reason  was  little  until  night,  when  dual  i     of 

globes  at  th(  Ided  poatfl  -part 

of  ti         Uery   railing — became  large  and  lumi 
pear!-     Then  thi       tunda,  on  the  commoneai  even- 
ing, aasunu  d  a 

When,  after  dinner,  Grace  Btood  on  I  illery  with 
Clare,  sh<  asked  wl  r  this  unuBual  architecture 
had  been  b  r'a  id 

"No;  we  found  it     -  il  answered.    "This 

house  *  lilt  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago  by  a  doctor — a 

nerve  Bpei         \  he  to  have  been — for  a  private 

82 


MISS  INGALIS  83 

hospital.     Pretty  high-class  patients,  it  looks  like." 

They  went  down  the  stairs  to  the  polished  floor.  A 
piano  stood  under  the  gallery,  in  the  part  that  Grace 
thought  of  afterward  as  the  crypt.  Rebecca  had 
opened  it,  and  was  thumping  out  a  gay  tune,  by  ear, 
with  a  good  deal  of  knack.  Clare  bent  toward  an 
open  door,  lighted  within,  and  shining  darkly  red 
from  the  color  of  the  stuffs  in  the  room  beyond.  Sev- 
eral steps  led  from  the  oval  pit  into  this,  which  was 
low-ceiled,  smoky,  semi-subterranean,  and  called  the 
den,  sacred  to  the  men-folk  of  the  house.  In  this 
sanctuary  they  might  smoke,  play  billiards,  box,  fight, 
read  newspapers,  and,  if  they  so  pleased  to  do,  place 
their  feet  on  the  mantel-piece. 

Black  and  his  sons  were  there  when  Grace  and 
Clare  looked  in.  Alec  promptly  challenged  his  uncle 
to  a  game  of  pool,  and  Grace  pressed  Clare  to  re- 
main. To  make  herself  beloved  by  not  disturbing 
family  habitudes,  she  ran  from  him  and  up  the  stairs. 

There  were  things  of  which  Theresa  and  she  could 
talk  much  better  if  Clare  were  not  present.  Theresa 
had  promised  to  show  her  pictures  of  Clare  when  he 
was  a  little  boy. 

Grace  found  her  by  the  parlor  lamp,  with  a  bit  of 
pick-up  work  in  her  hands  which  did  not  require  eye- 
sight or  attention.  Fanny  sat  near  the  same  table, 
with  a  more  ambitious  piece.  "Pinky  is  a  Vawter," 
the  family  was  wont  to  say ;  and,  though  Grace  could 
not  so  soon  gather  all  the  fitness  of  this  classifica- 


m  Miss  [NGALIS 

tion,  ahe  could  that,  more  than  any  of  the  r«   • 

cepting  her  father,  ahe  apj         1  uninterested  in  tin* 

people  and  things  around  her.    Rather  dry  and  set, 

she   W88;    DOl    \ '  :>     pretty,   with    her   sandy    hair   and 

whitish  ej'ela         and  features  a  trifle  <lull.  which  a 
beautiful  complexion,  the  tint  of  a  pink  pearl,  \\ 
nut  quite  enough  I     redeem.     But  ahe  did  nol  by  Car 
look  a  nonentity:  one  could  imagine  her  as  much  to  be 
unted  with,  iu  her  way.  as  tl  famih  who 

of  vitality  mad--  Grace  feel  herself  poor 

in  spirit   and   pah-  of  blood. 

minutes  to  the  assiduous  content- 
platioo  of  Fanny's  fingers  at  their  embroidery  ;  thru. 
by  tin1  simple  rase  of  simulating  enthusiasm  for  this 
handiwork,  ahe  snared  the  girl  into  talking     The  p< 
forman  mechanical  on  both  sides,  but  sue 

ful  to  the  extent  <>f  leaving  the  impression  that  Q 
wished  I         friendly,  and  thai  Fanny  was  not  alto 
.  r  shut  to  tenders  of  friendship. 
.\r  her  mother's  request,   Fanny  went  to  gel   the 
family  ph        raphs  and  da  and  Grs 

was  shown  pictures  old  and  new  and  given  fragments 
of  biography.     Sere  n  la  B  baby    even  then 

(Iduoki:         Red  as  a  little  curly  boj     Bed  in 
the  uniform  of  his  school   regiment ;   Bed   when  he 
graduated  from  high  school. 
"He  a  the  only  one  that  went  to  college,"  Then 
1.    "Father  never  believed  in  it  for  the  boys:  he 
had  an  idea  it  spoiled  them  for  business.     Besides, 


MISS  INGALIS  85 

we  weren't  rich  enough  when  the  others  were  of  col- 
lege age.  Red  didn't  care  about  it,  either.  It  was 
my  doing.  I  was  determined  to  have  him  have  every- 
thing worth  having.  Red,  you  see,  was  my  baby, 
really.  I  was  fifteen  when  mother  died,  and  I  took 
him  and  did  for  him  just  as  I  would  have  done  if  I'd 
been  his  mother  for  a  fact. 

''Sister  Ellen  was  married;  sister  Nancy  was  old 
enough  to  be  thinking  about  it;  the  others  were 
younger:  so  Red  fell  to  my  share,  and  I  suppose 
that  's  why  Red  is  my  favorite  and  I  can't  conceal  it. 
I  've  washed  him  and  spanked  him  and  unsnarled  his 
hair ;  I  've  nursed  him  through  croup  and  mumps  and 
measles.  No  brat  of  my  own,  I  declare  to  you,  Grace, 
was  ever  any  closer  to  me  than  Red.  We  've  always 
lived  together;  I  've  brought  him  up. 

'So,  having  the  say,  I  decided  that  father  must 
have  him  go  to  college.  But  we  're  not  bookish 
people,  I  'm  afraid.  He  did  n  't  finish ;  he  only  stayed 
two  years,  and  found  he  'd  had  enough.  All  he  cared 
for  in  college  was  the  athletics." 

"He  couldn't  have  got  through,  anyhow.  He 
never  could  have  worked  off  the  conditions  he  'd  piled 
up,"  came  a  voice  from  over  Theresa's  shoulder. 

Grace  looked  quickly  behind  her,  and  saw  Rebecca. 

"That  's  as  it  may  be."  Theresa  did  not  seem  in 
the  least  annoyed;  but  Grace's  heart  quickened  with 
resentment. 

"You  can't  make  it  out  that  Red  didn't  have  the 


86  MISS  [NGALIS 

brains,  Becky,'    Th<  ud,  with  the  calm  of  one 

making  an   ineont  r  '.in.  nt. 

K  1 1     a  lifted  her  chin  and  lei  down  her  eyelids, 
with  the  expression  of  one  who  thought  she  ought  be 
able  to  make  onl  a         if  she  eared  to  take  the  trouble 
or  til.-  risk;  then,  pointedly,  she  dropped  the  sub- 
it. 

una  and  <  lharlii  ."  she  said.    "<  '1 

lie  's  in  ti         !i.     Bmma  wants  I  for  some- 

thing in  particular,  and  I         me  op  to  your  room." 
Bmma    and    Charlie    were    fclra    Vawter's   eldest 
daughter  and  ber  husband. 

Qrace  continued  to  turn  over  ph        raphs  by  1, 
self.    New  \  •'  the  rotunda,  mixed 

with  la  R  i  dance  music,  created  the 

pe  that  she  would  ool  be  summoned  to  meet  the 
always  u<  I  n  a  d< 

shyni        i  -tart  in  with  new  people,  though  Bhe  di 
guised  it  well.     II:   I  fulfill        -he  relaj    I 

in  re  '      Fanny  left   I  Lng  to  go  and  see  who 

I  come,  and  did  i.  "urn 

while  wondering  what  Clare  was  doing  a 

w  much  l<  i1        raid  I  looki 

im-  wii  od  ipb  t<»  th.-  next,  with 

little  thought  about  them.    Strange,  how  .she  was  sl- 
ays aware  of  Clare.    No  matter  where  he  might  be 

— all  the  time,  all  the  time,  h<  r  uerves  were  in  an  in- 
describable way  aware  of  him.     A-  an   undercurrent 


MISS  INGALIS  87 

to  all  other  thoughts,  feelings,  interests,  lay  that  per- 
petual consciousness  of  Clare's  being.  It  was  sweet 
— yet  it  tired  one,  too,  and  was  pain,  at  moments,  of 
its  own  especial  kind.  But  yet,  to  lose  it  would  have 
been  to  die. 

With  the  turn  of  mind  of  one  who  had  composed 
fairy  tales  and  poems,  she  paid  more  intelligent  at- 
tention when  she  came  to  the  picture  of  that  Jesse 
who,  as  a  little  boy,  had  undertaken  the  task  of  get- 
ting his  family  together  again.  He  had  in  ripe  man- 
hood just  such  a  face  as  one  might  have  expected  to 
find:  keen  and  firm,  of  high  character — but  hatchet- 
hard;  yet  not  without  humor,  and  in  humor  is  feel- 
ing. From  the  mother  entirely  his  children  must 
have  got  their  amenity. 

Hers  were  the  fine  black  eyebrows  and  the  wavy 
hair  and  the  comeliness.  She  had  been  called  Maria, 
but  Inez  Maria  had  been  her  full  name.  This,  and 
the  fact  of  there  being  among  the  brothers  an  Alonzo 
and  among  the  nieces  a  Teresita,  suggested  to  Grace 
the  possibility  of  Spanish  ancestry  somewhere  up  the 
line.  And  if  Spanish,  perhaps — in  the  far  back — 
Arabian.  Who  could  tell?  Clare  might  have  de- 
rived his  crisp  curliness  from  sheiks  of  the  desert. 
This  fancy  so  appealed  to  her  that  she  amused  her- 
self seeking  corroboration  of  it  in  the  physiognomies 
of  Inez  Maria's  descendants. 

She  had  thought  the  room  deserted  but  for  her- 
self, and  looked  up  quickly  upon  hearing  a  rustle.     It 


ss  MISS  [NGALIS 

was  Dolores  approaching.  Grace  bent  on  her  at  once 
the  Bmile  that  tried  to  win.    Dolores  gazed  bach  with 

i  benignity,  which  took  the  place  sufficiently  well 
of  a  smile  in  th.it  face  committed  to  gravity.  The 
picture  she  made,  with  her  Locks  white  as  powder,  her 
mournful,  ar  •.  and  around  her  throat  the 

black  velvet  band  fastened  by  b  diamond  clasp,  re- 
mind- d  Gi  a  tale  from  the  R  I    rror :  bow 

ing  i         i  unfastened  th<         p  of  such  a  veil 

:i>1   <>n   an   in*  er   found   wandering  at 

midnight  near  the  p  of  executions — and  tin*  head 

l  from  the  /. 

As  I>"i         > I i *  1  nut  take  the  initiative,  Grace  b 

.-•<!  to  maki  m. 

'  How  ii.  .ii  ai'     '  Bhi        laimed,  re 

rring  to  the  ph  ihs.  "'They  make  one  Long 
to  know  all  about  each  our  of  them.  I  Love  to  try 
to  read  I          lon't 

air  t0  One  Bide,  in  a   way  that    in- 
vited Dolores  to  join  her  in  her  occupation.     Dolores 
ime  nearer,  a-  it'  accepting,  but  did  not  seat  her 
Belf,     With  on--  hand.  'id   pallid,  she  read 

down  to  the  album,  and  slowly,  as  if  abstractedly, 
turned  over  the  h  mtil  i  photograph 

of  herself  in  youth,  placed  on  tin-  page  opposite  to  a 
photograph  of  the  husband  of  whom  she  was  widowed. 
.Mil.-  Overcon        This  Oi         ae,  whether  because  ins 

hair  was  sleek,  or  because  he  wore  B] tacles,  had  not 

the  character]         lominant  Overcome  air. 


MISS  INGALIS  89 

When  Grace  had  had  time  to  examine  both  photo- 
graphs, Dolores  turned  the  pages  back  to  a  portrait 
of  Black's  wife,  also  in  youth — a  gentle,  mild-eyed 
woman,  who  had  gone  her  ways  a  year  or  two  before. 
Grace  thought  her  very  pleasing,  and  supposed  that 
Dolores  was  showing  her  for  that  reason. 

"Yes — charming,"  she  said. 

The  pallid  hand  again  moved  among  the  album 
leaves,  softly,  taking  its  time,  and  stopped  when  it 
had  turned  over  another  picture  of  Black's  wife,  taken 
long  afterward. 

"Poor  Mrs.  Black!"  thought  Grace.  "She  must 
have  had  wretchedly  bad  health." 

Nothing  else  that  she  could  think  of  would  explain 
the  contrast,  so  great,  between  that  blooming  young 
wife  and  this  worn,  care-marked,  middle-aged  woman. 
She  was  preparing  to  say  something  sympathetic, 
when  Dolores  spoke,  to  deliver  herself  of  a  saying  that 
had  no  bearing  whatever,  as  far  as  Grace  could  appre- 
hend, on  the  things  under  consideration. 

"There  are  hens,"  she  said,  "and  there  are  hawks." 

And,  while  Grace's  face  questioned  her,  she  looked 
at  Grace  intently,  penetratingly.  Clare  had  warned 
her  that  Dolores  was  queer. 

Vaguely  ill  at  ease,  Grace  thought  it  better  not  to 
attempt  to  investigate  the  illusion  in  which  this  sin- 
gular lady  lived. 

"The  earlier  photographs,  which  have  not  been  re- 
touched, seem  to  me  much  the  more  satisfactory," — 


90  Mis-  [NGALIS 

.she  returned  to  the  Bubjecl  of  the  photographs,  and 
continued  to  chatter  unassisted  until,  with  relief,  she 
heard  Clare  calling  her  from  below. 

Half    a    dozen    callers    v  h— cousins    and 

friends,  cheerful  people,  young.    There  was  dancing 
there  was  claret-cup  and  cake  in   the  dining-room, 
enjoyed   herself  like   the   rest,   circling   with 
Clare  in  the  delicious  waltz,  holding  her  own  in  the 
interchange  of  she  could  do  to  the  point  of 

amazing  herself  when  keyed  up  by  CI 
He  charmed  her  immensely  thi         aing  by  il  I 

taste  of  In-  bearing  toward  her:  attentive  to  the  poinl 
of  flattery,  yel  not  so  attentive  as  to  make  himself  and 
her  conspicuou 

■   last  they  w  atsidi  .  ellow 

pearls  diffused  their  radian  a  empl  tilery  and 
floor.    '  sayii         <><\  night  to  Clare,  when, 

to  Bay  it  more  circumstantially,  he  drew  her  by  a  not 
unwilling  hand  insXi  tall  doom  opening 

(.11  to  the  gallery.    They  b1 1  in  a  parlor,  of  rich 

and  somber  b  had   not   yet  A 

shaded  lamp  cast  its  circle  of  bright  on  a  table 
with  pipes,  tobi  jars,  and  mannish  things  Box- 
ing  gloves,    BWOrdS,    Indian    dubs,    BCUllS,    silver    cups 

such  as  arc  swarded  for  athletic  victories,  were  to  be 

sen  in  the  twilight  around.    She  did  nol  realize  that 

it  was  Clare'a  own  room  until  he  told  her,  and  with 

likeable  simplicity  showed  her  the  boa       of  his  do- 


MISS  INGALIS  »  91 

main :  the  elaborately  fitted  dressing-room  contiguous, 
the  goodly  bookcase  full  of  authors  laughably  choice 
which  at  night  became  his  bed ;  the  convenience  to  the 
front  door,  permitting  him  to  leave  or  enter  at  his 
own  hour  without  disturbing  the  household.  It  had 
used  to  be  the  great  doctor's  consulting-room,  he  told 
her. 

From  the  whole  world  seeming  so  very  still,  she 
thought  at  last  that  everyone  must  have  gone  up- 
stairs to  bed,  and  moved  to  leave  him. 

"Good  night,"  she  said. 

' '  Good  night, ' '  he  said  after  her,  and  enfolded  her. 

She  turned  her  face  so  that  his  kiss  should  light 
on  her  cheek  or  hair.  It  was  her  caprice,  which  he 
had  always  respected.  But  to-night  he,  with  a  mur- 
mur of  protesting  fondness,  reached  insistently  for 
her  lips:  she  must  see  that  something  was  changed, 
that  a  great  stride  had  been  taken  nearer  to  each 
other.  For  a  moment  she  would  have  withstood  him 
if  she  could.  Then,  closing  her  eyes,  she  yielded ;  and, 
while  deep  chords  of  her  being,  unawakened  until  that 
moment,  trembled  in  response,  she  tried  to  feel  some- 
thing sacred  in  that  burning  red  seal  upon  their  love. 

After  a  stretch — she  did  not  know  how  long — of  the 
sleep  that  is  like  empty  hollows  of  black  velvet,  she 
woke  without  knowing  why,  and  thought  herself  in 
her  bed  at  home.  Then  the  memory  came  back  of  the 
luxurious  chamber,  last  vision  to  smite  her  open  eyes. 


Miss  [NGALIS 

sin-  fell  the  unfamiliar  fineness  of  hex  sh<  softness 
her  mattress.  But,  even  as  the  warmth  of  the  boo 
was  far  from  the  earth,  bo  pleasure  and  comfort  were 
withdrawn  from  the  things  around  her  and  within. 
A  feverish  uneasiness  pervaded  her;  a  sickly  light  lay 
over  all  Bubj<  ti  I  thought ;  the  night  was  full  of  dull. 
Lonelj  anguish. 

She  attributed  her  condition,  when  she  was  a  little 
wider  awake,  t<>  the  unaccustomed  itements  of  the 
evening,  added  to  the  strain  and  fatigue  of  the  Last 
weeks     She    lay,    for   a    s]  unaccountably    ap- 

palled by  tl.  ■  that  great  house  around  her, 

with  all   its  unknown  BO  deeply   unknown.   .   .   . 

si  a  few  times,  turned  over,  and  tried  to 

go  to  sleep    but  soon,  forgetting  her  pursuit  of  foi 

get  fulness,  was  watchii  as 

they   r         ted   themselves  on   the  lighted   stage 
memory.     The  mo  I         ial  things  looked  disquieting 
in  that  hushed  and  heavy  hour:  the  redly  glimmering 

low    dour;    the    haggard    fiic-    .,f    tin-    phot  :»h;    tin- 

es of  Dolores  burdened  with  meaning  but  mean- 
ing what  '■'   .   .  . 

\  1  of  which  abruptly  faded  when  shame  and  re- 

morse   clutched   her  with   punishing   hands,   at    the 
recognition  that  not  one-  since  crossing  the  threshold 

of  this  house  had  she  thoughl  of  I        tther.    She  had 
gone  to  sleep,  for  tin-  first  time  since  lie  died,  without 
turning  her  mind  toward  him.  Bending  him  one  good 
night    i  .re.     Was    it     possible    that    riches    and 


MISS  INGALIS  93 

pleasures  and  love-making  would  be  able  to  obliterate 
an  image  so  rightly  dear?  Ah,  she  had  proved  her- 
self a  shallow  thing ! 

She  humbled  herself  to  the  immortal  part  of  Win- 
f  red  Ingalis  with  the  whole  of  her  contrite  heart ;  pro- 
tested the  truth  of  her  affection,  and  implored  par- 
don, and  cried  a  little ;  and  went  to  sleep,  chastened, 
full  of  high  resolves. 


D 


CHAPTER  IX 

ONT  get  op  till  vim  feel  like  it.'   Theresa  had 
bidden   her       ad  ( trace  had   been   happj    to 
imagine  herself  in  a  fairj   palace  where  such 
thing         ild  I"-  done  without  the  compunctions  tint 
ompany  Indulgences  of  the  kind  in  I 
She  came  to  herself  al  a  faint  rattle  of  dishes  anil 
Fragrance  of  :       was  standing  oear,  holding 

tray.     Having  piled  pillows  al   Gi  back  and 

placed  her  breakfi  *,  the  girl  seated  b< 

If  on  tli-  :'  the  bed 

"Don't   apologia        she  dismissed   Grace's   polite 
phi  "Wi  all  do  it.     [f  you  sit  np  late  you  can't 

Up  early.  In  this  family,  if  yon 
iy  in  bed  long  enough,  somebody  or  other  brings  yon 
nettling  t,     Mother  it." 

adering  around  th<         a. 
"Weren't    yon    tired    Ux  Grace    asked    her. 

"Weren't  yon  ap  as  late  as  I?     Bow  did  yon  wal 
up  bo  much  earlier  I ' 

"]  guess  yon  "<1  wake  ap  it*  yon  slept  with  Zip,  in 

the        mi  aexl  I  i  Aunt  Dolores.    Zip  has  a  way  of 

itting  her  that's  perfectly  maddening;  thru, 

all        a  sudden,  she  '11  double  ap  like  a  jackknife 

snapping  shut,  and  land  her  cocoanut  in  the  middle 

94 


MISS  INGALIS  95 

of  your  stomach.     Take  that,  along  with  Aunt  Do- 
lores sawing  wood  all  night.  . 

"Why,  Miss  Sita,  what  a  shame! 

"Don't  you  care!     I  suppose  I  '11  get  used  to  it. 

Sita's  melting  dark  eyes  continued  to  wander 
around  the  room  with  an  expression  that  could  be 
interpreted  as  marking  regret  mingled  with  a  sense  of 
injury. 

Grace's  long,  sound  morning  sleep  had  done  her 
a  world  of  good.  She  had  waked  with  nerves  com- 
posed— more,  indeed,  than  that:  she  had  waked  with 
something  very  like  elation  taking  the  place  of  those 
creepy,  causeless  midnight  misgivings.  She  was  go- 
ing to  take  possession  of  her  new  world  in  the  man- 
ner of  one  equal,  through  the  spirit,  to  all  its  prob- 
lems, tasks,  and  encounters.  She  rejoiced  in  the  mere 
multifariousness  of  life  as  it  now  offered  itself,  af- 
fording endless  objects  for  the  exercise  of  her  facul- 
ties. It  was,  with  her,  one  of  those  mornings  of 
youth  when  the  novice,  girded  for  adventure,  is  lifted 
upon  the  consciousness,  or  the  illusion,  of  illimitable 
strength — capacity  to  provide  out  of  deep  funds 
within  him  for  whatever  chance  may  come.  In  this 
mood,  rich  and  spendthrift,  the  desire  to  endear  her- 
self to  Clare's  people  without  exception  made  her 
reckless  of  what  there  might  be  to  pay.  An  especial 
magnanimity  was  in  order,  anyhow,  in  the  case  of  one 
who,  like  Sita,  had  given  evidence  of  eagerness  on 
her  side. 


96  MISS  INGALIS 

ur    room    before    I    came?"    Grace 

asked 
Sita  stared  at  lior  a  moment. 

■  ■  Fes,  11  w as.     I lov<  did  you  know ?" 

"^  u  don't  seem  quite  used  to  Zip  and  Aunt  Do- 

luD's." 

"You're  right     I  'd  had  this  room  since  Emma 

got  married — tin*  first  tin  I  ever  did  have  a  room  to 
myself.  B  if  course,  I  don't  mind  giving  it  up  to 
you.    I  don't  mind.  1  I  like  you.     Don't  tell 

Mother  I  Id  «>n." 

My  d<  ar  M       8    t,  quite  th<  favor  yon 

old  do  me  would  be  1  to  j  our  own  mom, 

if  you  wouldn't  mind  my  sharing  it.     I  am  a  qu 

si.  I  Del  1  know  thai   1  haven't  many 

clothes  and  thii  '.ill  be  plenty  of  room  f 

both  of  os,  and  1  shall  much  happier.     vi 

tainlv  must  c 

"Do  you  mean  it?  ' 'ii.  Miss  Imialis.  what  a  per- 
feel  darling  you  an  jumped  up  to  squei 

r  in  a  j<  bear-hu       "  You  're  lots  nicer  than  I 

thought  anybody  could  1"-.  if  yon  un  n't  our  kind. 

Ybn  're  ^uv<-  now  you  want   m<         You   know,    1   shall 

hai  e  '    tell  Mother  you  insisted." 

When  Clarence  heard,  thai  evening,  of  this  insi 

em  '  — 

"What  mad.'  you  do  that.  <>  Amiable  One?"  he  in- 


MISS  INGALIS  97 

quired.  "You  will  find  it — to  use  one  of  your  own 
expressions — direful. ' ' 

But  Theresa,  upon  Grace's  saying  the  proper 
thing,  had  raised  no  objection — being,  indeed,  glad 
to  have  her  child  stop  fussing  to  her  in  private  about 
the  burdens  unfairly  put  upon  her  because  she  was 
younger  and  better-natured  than  Pinky  or  Rebecca. 

"Now,  when  exactly  are  you  children  thinking  of 
getting  married?"  Theresa  asked  point-blank  that 
same  evening,  at  a  moment  when  she  and  Clarence 
and  Grace  were  by  themselves. 

"Soon,"  said  Clarence,  pressing  Grace's  hand  de- 
voutly.    "Sooner.     Soonest.     Grace,  set  the  day." 

Grace  stammered  a  little  in  saying:  "I  have  al- 
ways thought  that  a  year  was  the  shortest — " 

But  an  outcry  from  Clare  and  Theresa,  wonderfully 
of  one  mind  and  one  voice,  cast  her  back,  deeply 
blushing,  into  silence. 

"Did  you  hear  the  hard-hearted  little  thing!" 
cried  Theresa.  "I  never  knew  anything  like  it. 
What  have  you  got  against  the  poor  boy?  A  year, 
did  you  say?  A  year?  Why,  what  do  you  want  to 
wait  for?  Isn't  everything  all  right?  Come,  now, 
Grace,  give  us  a  human  answer.  What  do  you  say, 
Red?" 

"I  say  that  a  year  is  all  right,  and  about  what  I 
should  have  expected  from  the  pale-rose  lips  of  the 
well-brought-up  Miss  Ingalis.     But  to  fall  in  with  it 


MISS  [NGA1  [S 

would  look  like  a  powerful  I  of  entbu  i  on  my 
part.  Try  again,  Gra  Take  a  tip:  don'1  make  it 
a  daj  over  three  mouths. 

"Yes,  yes,"  agreed  Theresa  "Three  months  is 
more  than  enough.  The  idea!  And  three  .short 
months,  too,  bo  as  to  I  if  into  June.  June  is  the 
month  for  weddings.  Say  the  end  of  June:  that  will 
give  as  time  for  everything." 

Grace  had  arrived  at  a  theory  that  she  musl  hold 
her  own  against  Clare.  Sometimes,  when  disposed 
t<>  be  submissive,  she  made  herself  Btifl  and  wayward, 

taught  by  intuition  that  BDC  was  thus  finally  more  de- 
lightful to  him.     She  would  have  liked  in  this  ease  to 
be  obstinate;  hut  the  fad  that  sue  was  to  be  a  gu< 
of  the  Ovei         -  until  her  marriage  mad.-  it  seem 
indelicate  to  gel   a  term  deemed  by  her  hot 
extremely  loi  | 

Whose  prerogative  is  it  suppose  !  to  be  to        the 

d,i     '  sked,  witli  a  sparkh-  of  that   spri-jhtliness 

which  she  was  learnin  affect  "Do  I  remember 
rightly  thai  it  is  the  l  Well,  then.     I  will  be 

sable,  however;  I  won't  claim  it  entii       We  will 
do  before  marriage,  <"l  »ple  do  after  it: 

•  ■  half  way  in  making  eon  ms.  So — wo  '11 
have  the  wedding  in  half  the  length  of  time  I  pro- 
posed, and  in  twice  the  time  proposed  by  you;  that 
is  to  Bay,  in  six  months.     A  u  suit  d 

Ther<  d  the  compromj  fair,  and  made 

calculatioi 


MISS  INGALIS  99 

"That  will  take  us  into  September.  Six  months 
from  the  beginning  of  your  engagement  will  take  us 
to  the  second  week  in  September.  You  '11  have  to 
be  married,  then,  from  our  summer  home  on  Jaffa 
Road.  Well,  we  can  give  you  just  as  pretty  a  wed- 
ding there  as  here.  The  family  moves  out  to  Jaffa 
Road  the  end  of  June,  and  the  men  come  down  by 
train  every  afternoon.  We  '11  have  to  set  about  get- 
ting your  things  at  once,  my  child,  so  as  to  be  through 
before  July,  for  we  sha'n't  want  to  be  running  back 
and  forth  in  hot  weather." 

In  her  aspiration  to  establish  charming  relations 
between  herself  and  the  different  members  of  his  fam- 
ily, Grace  received  small  support  from  Clare.  His 
attitude  was  that  of  saying,  "What  makes  you 
bother?  Let  it  work  out  as  it  will.  You  're  a  lot 
too  good  for  them."  He  was  immensely  candid  with 
regard  to  his  family,  calling  them  whatever  names  at 
the  moment  best  represented  his  meaning,  however 
unflattering  it  might  be.  Grace  suspected  him,  none 
the  less,  of  a  strong  clan  feeling,  of  its  own  kind.  She 
continued  tactfully  trying  to  show  liking  and  make 
herself  liked. 

Aside  from  Sita,  whose  conquest  was  really  too  easy, 
she  felt  least  shyness  with  Dolores,  toward  whom  she 
was  impelled  by  a  kind  of  pity — pity  on  fairly  in- 
tangible grounds;  for,  although  the  offhand  manner 
of  the  family  seemed  out  of  keeping  when  applied  to 


100  Miss  [NGALIS 

l'  -.  this  was  iidi  sufficient  to  creai  pity  She 
put  into  1.  lilf  a  double  i  if  honey  when  bend- 
ing it  on  Dolon  The  depressing  lady  seemed  not 
to  care  to  talk,  yet  must  like — as  everybody  likes — 
to  be  the  object  of  a  distinguishing  and  appreciative 
smile  Meeting  her  on  the  h  ay  to  mass,—]  tolores  went 
daily    to    mass,     Gract     would    say    ingratiatingly, 

'Tray   for   me   tun!"      At    which    Dolores   would   bow 
Ql  in  entire  seri  -s  and.  <    ■       •  fancied,  make 

it  a  point  of  .v. 

Several  times  Qrace  had  seen  on  the  stairs  a  large, 
middle-aged   woman,   carrying  covered   dishes  on   a 

tray,  before  th<  tition  of  this  event  had  bu 

the  question,  "  [s  anybody  illT    Who  lives  upstairs?" 

si         i  with  I »  Doloi     ret  nrning  from  ma 

when  her  curiosit;  I  and 

the  que  •  ht  of  tin-  servant  ap- 

proaching with  her  tray. 

'  It   is  Miss   <  >      •  '    Dol< 

1.    "'Aunt  Nfarinda,"  she  elucidated. 

Qrace  remembered  at  i  Marinda,         r  <»f 

J<  sse  and  William  and  Sylvanus— -one  of  the  four  or- 
phans distributed  and  <:  i.  who  by  this  time 
must   be  an  old,  old  woman. 

"And   she   is   illf" 

tannot  walk  or  stand.    She  never  leaves  her 
room.    Good  morning,  Nora." 
Grace's        i  took  in  more  riously  the  face  of 


>     1      >   • 


MISS  INGALIS  101" 

the  large  woman  in  a  blue-striped  gingham  as  she 
passed  them,  and  she  liked  its  broad  kindness,  its  small 
pretty  eyes  like  a  child's,  even  its  button  nose,  com- 
ically counterbalanced  by  a  button  of  gray  hair  at  the 
back  of  the  head. 

She  expressed  to  Theresa,  that  day,  her  desire  to 
be  made  acquainted  with  Marinda.  Already  when 
she  was  much  younger  Grace  had  discovered  as  one 
of  the  painful  things  that  a  person  learns  in  life,  if 
he  be  at  all  observant  or  sensitive,  that  there  is  among 
people  in  their  strength  and  health  a  disposition  to 
neglect  the  old ;  also,  that  old  people  pathetically  love 
remembrance  and  affection  from  the  young.  This 
perception  had  created  in  her  a  habit  of  regard  for 
them,  in  part  ideal  of  chivalry,  in  part  honest  tender- 
ness. 

Theresa  looked  at  her,  when  she  made  the  request, 
as  if  she  thought  it  supererogatory;  her  glance  inti- 
mated that  Grace  would  not  find  the  enterprise  re- 
warding: if  it  had  been  anything  in  the  nature  of  a 
treat,  would  it  not  have  been  proposed? 

But  she  readily  consented. 

"Come  on,"  she  said,  and  led  the  way. 

They  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  house;  Theresa 
knocked  at  a  door. 

The  room  they  entered  was  so  different  from 
her  unconscious  expectation  that  Grace  made  a  small, 
unguarded  sound  of  surprise.  It  was  as  if  a  magic 
carpet  had  transported  them  in  a  twinkling  from  the 


LM  MISS  [NGALIS 

city  to  an  old -fashioned  country  house,  filled  with 
a  countrywoman's  old-fashioned  belonging  There 
u  ii  the  faintly  musty  smell  that  is  exhaled  from 

old  thin 

Near  the  embrasure  formed  by  one  of  the  mansard 
window  .  high-backed  chair,  covered  with  a 

faded  goods  printed  with  once  gay  flowers,  and  fur- 
nished  with  projections  designed  to  shield  the  ears 

from    draughl  In    this    sat    an    ancienl    lady,    with 

hi  d  od  and  a  shavi  I  tucked  around 

her  up  !«»  the  v. 

'Well,   Aunt   Marinda.  how  do  yon  do  to-dai 
Theresa  asked  in  1  •        .;.  cheerful  tones,  which  ahe 
sharpened  ?■>  \  li«'  dull  ear  of  ag      "  I  've 

broughl  R         young  lady  up  I 

'Oh,  Red 'a  young  lady.1      Aunt  Marinda  spoke  in 
a   .  •  edly  deep,  and,  after  a  moment 

vagueness,  took  the  hand  thai  Grace  at  once  extend 
with  her  prett;    nnile.     She  looked  from  one  t<»  the 
otl.  •  ill  in  doubl ;  thm.  ' •  JTes,  I  rememb 

she  nodded. 

'*  1 1-T  oame  i^  I  < Irace  I Qgabus 

"01     Qra        Same  as  the  other." 

Aunt    Marinda.    I    gueSfl    you    aivn't    quite    awak'.- 

;.     Did   '•'■  e  break  into  \ our  nap f    See,  bei i       a 

letter  from  Sarah  I  've  broughl  for  you  to  read.     I  m 

_r  to  h         '  for  ymi  to  l«>ok  at  when  you  're  ready. 

Sh<  lot  to  say  about  Belle's  baby.    They  're 

•  Sally  Marinda.    Are  n't  you  plea 


MISS  INGALIS  103 

Grace  was  happy  to  feel  that,  with  Theresa  at  hand, 
there  would  fall  upon  her  no  obligation  to  talk.  She 
could  talk  so  much  better  another  time,  when  she 
came  up  here  alone. 

This  strange,  delightful  room!  Strange  through 
its  mere  existence  in  the  same  house  as  the  ambitious 
apartments  below;  delightful  in  being  so  like  some- 
thing in  a  story  book.  In  a  corner  stood  a  solid  four- 
post  bed,  with  colored  patchwork  spreading  over  its 
mound  of  feathers.  The  chair  she  had  taken  was  an 
old  wooden  one  with  worn  seat  and  rungs;  on  the 
floor  lay  braided  rag  carpets,  dim  with  long  use.  An 
iron  stove  with  little  Gothic  windows  shed  that  even, 
caressing  heat  which  old  people  so  much  prefer  to 
fresh  air.  In  which  details,  the  room  was  not  unlike 
rooms  Grace  had  seen  before.  What  made  the  place 
curious  was  to  find  in  it  so  much  that  ordinarily 
would  have  been  relegated  to  the  store-room,  not  to 
say  the  rubbish  heap. 

Piled  in  the  corners,  on  the  deep  window-sills,  on  the 
old  lounge  and  under  it,  were  boxes  and  boxes,  bundles 
and  bundles,  sheaves  of  yellowed  newspapers  and 
magazines,  picture-frames  laid  one  on  top  of  another, 
with  here  and  there  revealed  such  private  and  per- 
sonal treasures  as  a  stuffed  black-and-tan  terrier,  a 
bunch  of  ghost- white  flowers — bridal  or  funeral? — 
stiffened  and  eternized  by  a  preparation  of  wax.  The 
eye  received  from  these  promiscuous  stacks  of  port- 
able property  an  impression  of  irregularity,  but  not 


104  MISS  [NGALIS 

ly  of  disorder;  for  the  things  were  systematized 
and  condensed  as  far  as  possible,  so  as  to  leave  a  fair 
remainder  of  spa        i  live  in. 

It  might  !><■  thoughl  thai  when  Aunt  Marinda  trans- 

rred  hei  '«>  her  brother's  h'-u^e  in  town  it  had 
been  t<">  I  in  her  from  the  familiar  poss< 

ins.  She  had  brought  along  the  accumulations  of  a 
life,  besi       d  them  temporarily,  then  grown  accus- 

med  t<.  the  ang  md  shadows  they  made.  Per- 
haps th.  re  ha. I  been  i  at  first  of  making  - 

tion,  reduction,  destruction.  Perhaps  her  great 
affliction  had  overtaken  hi  •  it  could  I"'  carried 

into  ert'<  1 1.  v.  -hat    mighl    1  tood    the 

dim.  dj  I  things:  glimpsed  them  on  top  of 

the  wardr  divined  them  under  tin'  bed,  bid- 

den  hv  the  valanci 

i 

:   tilted    forward   and   backward   in   an   old 
wooden  rocking-chair  p  1  pale  yellow  and  embel- 

lished with  pah-  pin  and  cheerily  fed  tl 

i    ;  relative  with  news  of  th.-  a  .         as  family.    Aunt 

Marinda    W8S    DO    doubl     in"  d.   -could    One    COn- 

ive  an  a'_r''d  count rywuinaii  Dot  d  by  a 

string  of  gossip  I     but  lid  tit                  i  I      eon- 

n  alive.    Tl  not  wait  for  her ;  she 

gave  to  th<           ion  an  •  entin        ial  su 

by  reeling  off  her  ready  talk  alone,  with  hardly  an 

interruption. 

"Lonzo  is  thinking  of  building — did  Dolores  tell 

you  I     Carrie  wants  him  to  buy  the  house  her  brother 


MISS  INGALIS  105 

wants  to  sell;  but  Lonzo  doesn't  see  it,  and  I  don't 
blame  him.  It  's  gloomy  and  it  's  cramped.  We  're 
watching  to  see  who  '11  come  out  ahead,  whether  she  '11 
get  her  way  or  he  his.  I  guess  it  '11  end  in  their  build- 
ing. I  guess  it  's  safe  to  put  your  money  on  the 
Overcome  side  of  the  house." 

Grace,  meanwhile,  could  study  the  old  lady's  face 
without  rudeness.  She  perceived  in  her  some  re- 
semblance to  the  pictures  of  her  brother,  but  was  re- 
minded more  of  someone  else.  She  had  seen  before 
that  bony,  elongated  face,  with  the  large  eye-sockets 
and  the  great  dignity. 

That  Aunt  Marinda  should  be  paralyzed  seemed 
to  Grace  the  more  tragic  in  that  she  had,  to  the  most 
casual  observation,  a  great  deal  of  character,  and 
must  have  been  purposeful,  powerful,  active.  There 
was  something  mannish  about  her,  with  her  gruff 
chest-voice  and  bit  of  beard,  so  that  the  trifling  head- 
gear of  black  lace  and  velvet,  worn  by  old  ladies  to 
hide  their  thin  spot,  seemed  in  her  case  a  foolish,  im- 
pertinent affair. 

Grace  found  herself  immensely,  respectfully  sorry 
for  Aunt  Marinda,  not  the  less  so  because  Aunt  Ma- 
rinda looked  strong  in  patience  and  able  to  bear  her 
lot.  From  the  serious-looking  black  book  on  the  little 
table  at  her  elbow,  she  presumed  that  Aunt  Marinda 
was  religious.  But,  religious  as  you  might  be,  and  pos- 
sessed of  superhuman  comforts,  it  seemed  to  Grace 
a  sad  thing  to  be  old :  to  be  at  the  end  of  things — love 


106  MISS   rNGALIS 

finished,  work  finished,  hope  abbreviated,  nothing 
from  day  to  day  to  thrill  you.  the  sun  gone  <lini  with 
the  dimness  or  eyes,  oothing  to  Look  forward  to 

lint    th»'   chilly,   uncongenial   mysteries   of   the    next 
world,  and  tl         >nly  to  be  arrived  at  after  thai  tin- 
that  transition,  the  thought  of  which  is  so  repulsive  to 
warm  young  flesh  and  blood!  ...  A  great  deal  of 
sympathy  \\a>  due  to  the  old,  it  seemed  to  Grace. 

'Well,  Aunt  Marin  da/'  Theresa  talked  glibly  on, 
hut  an  Intimation  was  in  I  idence  that  she  ap- 
proached the  point  of  winding  up,— "the  wedding 
da,  for  the  second  week  in  September;  bo  yi 

1  to  Jaffa  Eta 
tli.       ison.     B    I  'i  honi  I  '_r'»t  i      !y, 

..     The  carp*  od  paintei  1I3   just  out 

»t.     They  "11  be  busi  <i  us  from  this  onward 

till  the  wedding  daj 

At  n        rice  to  tli»   wedding,  Aunt  Marinda 
turned  toward   I  and  < i rac     '    >k  th<         asion 

to  Introduce  Into  1i«t  smile  the  final  essence  of  all  her 
thoughts  on  old  ag       The  two  l»-t  their  glances  n 
npon  each  other  with  directness  and  simplicity.     R 

>m  faded  l»lu»-  fire  of  shadowy  caverns 

mel    with   the   gold-brown   Light    of   clear   woodland 
Is. 

"You  seem  to  be  a  nice  Little  thing/    Aunt   Ma- 
rinda  fame  out,  addressing   herself   to   Q  and 

breaking  unceremoniously  across  Tl  chatter  to 


MISS  INGALIS  107 

do  it.  "What  makes  you  want  to  marry  into  this 
family  ? ' ' 

"Well,  I  like  that!"  Theresa  burst  out  laughing. 
"Who  're  you  hitting,  Aunt?  The  family  or  Grace? 
You  do  have  a  way  of  saying  things!" 

She  did  not  seem  anything  but  amused ;  but,  when 
she  had  caught  Grace's  eye,  she  shot  a  glance  at  her 
such  as  people  exchange  behind  the  back  of  the  de- 
mented, and  got  up  as  if  she  felt  it  time  to  go. 

"We  don't  want  to  stay  long  enough  to  tire  you, 
Aunt.  Good-by.  I  hope  the  boys  below  don't  make 
noise  enough  to  disturb  you.  If  they  do,  you  must 
let  me  know.  Send  me  word  by  Nora  any  time 
there  's  anything  I  can  do  for  you." 

As  she  held  out  her  hand  to  take  Aunt  Marinda's 
in  farewell,  Grace  was  reimpressed  by  the  likeness  she 
had  noted.  Who  was  it  that  Aunt  Marinda  re- 
sembled, so  severe  as  she  looked,  but  also  gentle  and, 
possibly,  a  little  cracked?  Who  but  her  dear  old 
friend,  and  her  father's  particular  favorite,  that 
valorous  knight  of  the  Mancha,  Don  Quixote? 

On  the  way  downstairs,  Theresa  said:  "Isn't  she 
a  freak?  You  never  can  tell  what  she  '11  be  like. 
Some  days  you  '11  find  her  in  a  sort  of  daze,  like  to- 
day, when  she  gets  all  mixed  up  and  doesn't  know 
what  she  's  dreamed  and  what  is  so.  Once  you  know 
it,  you  're  all  right.  Sometimes,  though,  she  has  scold- 
ing fits,  when — my  conscience ! — you  want  to   keep 


108  MISS  INGALIS 

clear  of  her.  They  're  the  reason  thai  some  of  the 
family — Bed,  Cor  instance  never  go  near  her.  When 
t hut  a  en  her,  ahe  appears  to  have  idge  against 

the  lot  of  as.  It  's  her  mind  failing,  of  coum  The 
girls  go  up,  from  time  to  time;  but  the}  hate  it  so,  l 
don't  make  them  I  nl  with  her  a  good  deal  myself, 
though,  ami  >••  does  Dolores;  ami  Bylvanu  i  up 
there  nearly  every  evening. 

"Well,    lunacy    i.sn't    catching,    thank    Lr Inc.- 

Clare  said  cheerfully  to  <i:         when  she  had  told 

him  ot"  her  visit  to  his  aunt.    "Bui  I  would  n't  waste 

much  time  on  the  old  Lfirl.      She  won't  know  the  dif- 

snd  1  don  t  see  v.  ba1  good  \  ou  can  .        ut 

of  it." 


CHAPTER  X 

GRACE,  who  had  only  sipped  at  the  cup  of 
pleasure — the  kind  of  thing  that  is  thought 
worthy  of  the  name  by  a  world  that  would  be- 
come ironical  if  the  enjoyment  of  books  and  nature 
and  the  conversation  of  a  dear  father  were  included  in 
the  draught, — Grace,  who  had  only  sipped  before, 
drank,  now  that  it  was  offered  to  her,  without  stint, 
like  one  to  the  manner  born.  There  were  gather- 
ings, informal  festivities,  almost  nightly  in  the  house 
of  one  or  another  of  the  large  family — the  married 
brothers  and  sisters,  the  married  children  and  their 
circles.  At  these  there  was  dancing  and  eating,  with 
much  joviality  of  a  young  and  robust  sort,  as  among 
people  finding  what  they  had  got  thoroughly  desirable, 
and  converting  their  satisfaction  in  good  clothes,  good 
food,  and  handsome  houses  into  good  spirits. 

It  was  a  trait  of  the  Overcomes,  whose  fortunes  had 
been  made  in  commerce,  to  be  pleased  with  the  world 
of  things  opened  to  them  by  that,  and  to  foster  no 
hankerings  after  any  society  that  felt  itself  better 
than  they.  There  were  among  them  no  so-called 
"climbers."  They  liked  what  they  had,  and  if  they 
desired  more  it  was  more  of  the  same  kind.     Grace 

found  no  fault  with  the  quality  of  the  entertainments 

109 


!  LO  MISS   [NGALIS 

offered  her;  they  had  the  oecessarj  color,  abundant 
and  variety  to  produce  the  right  excitement,  the  Ben- 

'inn  of  living  to  the  full.     It  was  a  Luxury,  after  a 
while,  to  feel  a  little  Bated,  and  be  able  to  take  them 
y. 

What   with  late  rising,  the  hours  Bpenl  shopping 
with  Tl         i.  the  time  given  to  Clare,  the  evenini 
filled  with  parties  and  thi         -  and  supp        she  had 
do  time  for  study,  hardly  for  ordinary  reading    Bhe 

who  bad  cared  atly    for  I ks!     She   fancied 

thai  an  ailment  would  grow  in  her  from  this  lack. 
from  the  absei  \ i i ;i  1  element  in  one's  diet, 

whercbj  or  nerve  is  starved.     She  <-h< 

for  berself  a  few  books,  seriou         [uiring  concentra 
tion.     1 1*  through  the  daj  found  the  quiet 

hour  in  which  t<»  read,  she  would  do  it  the  last  thing 
before  bed.  She  would  read,  obstinately,  though  it 
were   two  o'clock    in   the   morning,   though    it    were 

Hiding    in    her    night-dress    under    tl  ht, 

she  would  read  if  it  were  only  a  single  sonnet,  if 
it  were  only  "The  World  is  too  much  with  us,"    and 

• 

i  to  sleep  with  a  connection  established  between  her 

If  that  used  t<>  1  much  in  1 1  oimmering 

silvery  and  opaline  world  of  poetry,  and   this  Dew 

person  called  upon  to  give  heart  and  mind  to  such  a 

different,  di>tra<-tinLr.  crimson-and  gold-lighted  world. 

When  a  month  had   p  •    ho] f  maku 

herself  dear  to  all  th<  0  d  undergone  modi 


MISS  INGALIS  111 

fications.  She  knew  by  that  time  what  could  be  done 
and  what  could  not. 

Her  desire  for  popularity  among  Clare's  family  had 
risen  in  part  from  a  desire  to  be  quite  perfect  toward 
him.     But,  since  he  genuinely  cared  so  little.  .  .  . 

In  part  she  had  wanted  to  be  liked  because  that 
was  the  ideal :  to  live  with  your  neighbor  in  more  than 
a  mere  absence  of  friction.  Human  relations  should 
have  positive  amenity ;  fellow  guests  at  the  great  Inn 
should  go  toward  each  other  with  hands  extended, 
offering  flowers  and  fruit.  .  .  . 

But  at  the  end  of  a  month  she  was  willing  to  let  all 
that  be,  even  as  Clare  had  bidden  her.  Clare  had  his 
own  kind  of  wisdom. 

Some  of  the  Overcomes  could  not  be  made  to  care 
for  her ;  and  others,  the  truth  was,  she  did  not  much 
care  for. 

She  found  comfort  at  all  times  in  Theresa,  who 
regarded  her  explicitly  as  the  rightest  person  in  the 
world  for  Red,  and  a  reason  for  congratulation  to  the 
whole  house  of  Overcome.  Theresa  and  Red  were 
enough  to  keep  the  most  modest  of  girls  in  conceit; 
and,  as  far  as  conceit  was  concerned,  the  rest  did 
nothing  to  shake  it,  for  their  attitude — which  one  got 
like  an  emanation — was  that  of  regarding  her  as, 
while  not  of  their  kind,  belonging  to  a  kind  that  would 
naturally  think  itself  entitled  to  put  on  airs  with 
them. 

Her  little  early  attempts  to  deserve  some  mark  of 


112  MISS  INGAUS 

-  .ml  from  the  head  of  the  house  bad  the  fate  of 
thoi  dfl  in  the  parable  thai  were  scattered  on  rock. 
Black  was  primly  unamenable  to  the  fascinations  ol 
little  girls.  Carious,  to  see  him  at  Ins  end  of  the 
table,  acting  just  like  a  human  being,  handsome  in  a 

y,  having — though  mostly  rather 
lent — a  twist   <»f  hard   hinin.r  and  any  quantity  of 
hard  Bense,  and  yel  aol  Quite  having  human  feelings. 
For,  if  a  person  smiles  to  you  in  a  soft,  sunny  way,  it 

only  human  to  r  back  a  little  Warmth.     <.' m ■•■■ 

tame  a  tin\  bit  afraid  of  Black. 

Uncle  Sylvanus  apj  ntle  beii 

with  his  look  of  an  old  woman  with  .short  white  hair, 
and  «•-  pable  of  a  beard,  and  •        thai  infi- 

oitely  kept  their  own  counsel  She  fell  an  affinity 
between  him  and  herself;  but  when  she  attempted  to 
talk  with  him,  he  baffled  her  lik>  nail  retiring  into 
his  shell,  and  she  d  usement  In  the  others 

over  her  freshness  in  attempting  a  difficult  and  worth- 
less task.  She  learned  that  Sylvanus  was  the  on< 
the  family  who  had  "never  amounted  to  anything.'1 
Hut  old  J(  »  I  ad  felt  fraternal  toward  him  too,  and 
_-  en  him  a  share  in  the  business  and  a  right  in  the 
house,  the  Ban  r  Marinda.    They  could 

not  turn  old  Sylvanus  nut,  if  he  did  from  time  to  time 
po  on  a  darkling  exp<         a  alluded  to  as  a  "spn 

They  could  award  him.  though,  a  Bleeping  apartment 
in  the  cellar,  as  it  were,— a  darkish,  moldy-smelling 

room  entered  from  the  den,  to  which  he  could  be  con- 


MISS  INGALIS  113 

ducted  without  scandal  when  his  step  was  unsteady 
and  he  was  not  to  be  restrained  from  lifting  his  voice 
in  song. 

In  the  case  of  Simeon  Vawter,  Grace  had  had  little 
hope  from  the  first.  He  was  not  stone,  like  Black; 
he  was  wood.  There  was  proof  of  his  excellent,  even 
exceptional  capacity  in  the  clothiers'  business;  but 
that  did  not  make  him,  from  Grace's  standpoint,  easy 
to  talk  with.  Beyond  the  flattest  commonplaces,  she 
did  not  know  what  to  say  to  him.  After  giving  him 
up,  however,  she  rather  liked  him.  His  dry,  sandy 
face  had  a  superior,  silent  good  sense.  It  was  funny 
to  feel  about  him  as  a  man  who,  in  spite  of 
the  appearance  given  to  the  situation  by  the  fact  of 
wife  and  children,  had  once  and  for  all  made  up  his 
mind  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  of  the  people 
around  him.  Between  him  and  Theresa  there  existed, 
as  far  as  one  could  tell,  good  accord,  though  no  visible 
sentiment;  between  him  and  his  children  natural 
feeling  without  demonstrativeness. 

Toward  his  daughter  Pinky,  Grace  had  taken  the 
steps  requisite  for  the  cultivation  of  friendship,  to 
find  her  before  long  rather  too  unrewarding  for  one 
to  wish  to  proceed  very  far.  When  Pinky  let  herself 
go,  one  day,  to  the  point  of  making  confidences  and 
revealing  her  shy,  inmost  aspirations,  she  said  she 
should  like  to  be  a  hotel-keeper  or  else  the  wife  of  one, 
with  the  huge  linen  supplies  belonging  to  such  an  es- 
tate— towels,  sheets  and  pillow-cases,  table-cloths  and 


114  MISS  [NGALIS 

napkins,  all  indelibly  marked;  and  then  thousands  and 

thousands  oi  plated  knives  and  forks,  also  marked; 

d  pure!  od  to  be  made  on  a  colossal  scale, 

bargain  pi       .  and  then,  of  course,  all  the  monej 

i-"lliiiLr  in  — 

■    had  shown  I  -iiial.  but  a  limit  had  been 

•  to  the  distance  the  tun  could  travel  together. 
On  never  offered  t«>  read  her  favorite  lines  on 
■  Tinteni  Abbe;      with  Pinky,  nor  the  "Ode  to  the 

We8t   Wind";  she  U(  into  the  region  of 

»•  <i\\n  dreams,  where  the  horizon  mountains  were 

ry  dim,  but  very  high. 

in  t i  Sita  the  trouble  waa  different     I n 

:'   In  iriL'   to,   , 1   arid   dry.   Sita   was   tOO   warm 

and  sticky.     Saving  con  i  the  glowing  hope  of 

ing  best  frienda  with  G  in  the  schoolgirl  sen 

of  the  word,  Bhe  did  1  •  r  pari  toward  it  with  vigor,  and 
before  her  a1  i  drew  hack. 

Grace  had  an  inborn  horror  of  false  relations,  eon 
junctioi         man  ding  the  show  of  more  than  i         Uy 

\t  the  same  time,  sh tuld  n<         nub  one  who 

came  meaning  kindness  and  compliment,  any  more 
than  si  ild  1"    ■  praceless  dog  that 

clumsily  exhibited  affection  by  pawing  her  dress  and 
licking  her  chin.  -  me  turned  into  fun  Sita 'a  rav- 
ings over  the  beauty  Of  her  hair,  or  the  smoothness  of 
hor  skin,  when   they   nnd  I    for   bed    in   the   room 

they  shared;  she  fought  off  her  fondlings  with  play- 
fulness and  irony. 


MISS  INGALIS  115 

With  Zip  it  was  still  different ;  and  after  a  few 
trials  at  making  friends  with  her,  Grace  let  the  rude 
little  thing  be.  Zip  plainly  could  not  bear  her,  and 
showed  it  as  much  as  she  dared,  with  the  fear  of  her 
mother  on  her  and  that  of  her  Uncle  Red.  Grace 
only  understood  when  she  was  told  that  it  was  a  re- 
sult of  the  child's  surprising  jealousy  of  her  in  con- 
nection with  Red,  whose  pet  Zip  had  been  all  her  life. 
Grace  would  have  liked  to  assuage  that  hurt,  but  Zip 
could  be  too  horrid ;  it  seemed  better,  finally,  to  let 
her  alone,  like  a  little  stinging  nettle,  a  little  prickly 
hedgehog. 

Then,  there  were  Black's  sons.  These  young  fel- 
lows had  gone  into  business  life  early — which,  since 
they  showed  no  taste  for  book-learning,  was  no  doubt 
the  best  thing  for  them.  Grace  marveled  how  they, 
like  Clare,  could  sit  up  to  all  hours,  dancing  and  junk- 
eting, then  go  to  their  work  in  the  morning  with  rigid 
punctuality.  Another  evidence  of  the  admirable 
Overcome  vitality.  Grace  had  occasion  to  make  re- 
flections upon  that  vitality  sometimes  after  she  had 
gone  to  bed  ever  so  late,  when,  just  as  she  was  drop- 
ping off  to  sleep,  bumps  and  rumbles  overhead  would 
draw  her  back  to  the  world,  and  she  would  remember 
that  it  was  only  Alec  and  Junior  working  off  their 
superfluous  strength  and  animality  in  rough-and- 
tumble  play,  or  a  wrestling  match,  or  a  simple  fight. 

As  neither  of  the  boys  made  a  motion  toward  her, 
Grace  thought  they  were  perhaps  waiting  for  her,  the 


116  MISS  INGALIS 

future  nunt,  to  take  the  initiative.     With   a   delicate 

trepidation,  but  well  concealed,  she  made  Alec  the 
objed  of  a  tentative  amiability — to  Bee  him  pounce 
upon  it,  young  hawk  with  the  lawless  gleam  in 
his  eye,  as  if  with  all  his  talons,  and  to  rasped 
in  him  some  lust  for  scoring  against  his  ancle,  which 
this  him  the  chance  to  fancy  he  was  « !■  -i h.lt.     a 

mething  too  rabtle  to  fii   upon,  fainter  than  the 
faint       gather  between  CI  brows,  warned  her 

of  a  blunder.    She  v        rations  after  that  with  Al< 
w)  the  thought,  derisive,  and  stung 

her  to  dislike,  she  did  qoI  make  the  same  mistake 
with  duni<T:  Junior,  for  one  thing,  had  tie-  misfor- 
tune to  remind  her  of  Bit 

With   Rel  "  had  sup        I  she  was  getting 

alnriL'  quite  uicely,  when   R  .•  an   unpro- 

voked remark  that  could  hai         object,  it  seemed  to 

Grace,  but  to  express  antipathy.     "Theresil     '    race,'1 

she  called  out  to  tie'  others,  "making  mental  resen 
tions  by  the  hour  I M    <>r,-;  ed  darkly  and  found 

oothing  to  reply. 
That,  then,  was  how  red  to  Rel  eecs     like 

one  thinking  Qer&elf  superior  I  ■:■  it   and  judtrimr 

them    from    a   height:    a   Sufficient    explanation    of   tie' 

hostility  which  she,  from  that  time  onward,  distin- 
in  Rebecca's  attitude  toward  her.    she  w 
ry.     Because    Kehecca — though   Bhe   rather   hated 

\i  \   now — was  the  one  of  all  the  young  people 

whom  she  could   have   liked   most.     Rebecca    in    I 


MISS  INGALIS  117 

riding-habit,  with  her  neat  top-hat,  her  gauntlets  and 
quirt,  had  the  attraction  for  Grace  of  a  figure  in  ro- 
mance. Not  the  good  heroine,  but  the  other,  the 
darkling,  the  fascinating  one.  Though  Rebecca's 
black  eyes  were  bold,  and  her  pouting  red  lips  in  a 
sleepy,  latent  way  cruel,  one  could  quite  well  imagine 
warmth  of  heart  in  her,  headlong,  headstrong  loyalty, 
where  once  it  had  been  enlisted. 

But  there  was  no  use  trying,  Grace  felt — the  less  so 
that  Rebecca  was  right  about  the  mental  reservations. 
She  wished,  when  it  was  too  late,  that  she  had  had  the 
spirit  and  readiness  to  reply,  as  she  could  only  have 
done  in  truth  had  she  been  a  different  kind  of  person : 
"If  you  had  an  inkling,  my  dear  girl,  how  strange 
and  novel  are  to  me  some  of  your  ways, — your 
squabbles,  your  points  of  view,  the  quality  of  your 
gossip,  the  tone  of  your  conversation,  the  taste  of 
your  remarks  and  sometimes  of  your  dresses, — I  have 
a  notion  that  you  would  regard  it  as  a  mercy  that  I 
do  reserve  my  mind!'' 

Yes,  Rebecca  was  right  about  the  mental  reserva- 
tions. Only,  there  was  so  much  else  to  consider, 
which,  if  Rebecca  had  done,  she  might  have  granted 
to  Grace  some  of  that  devotion  of  which  she  looked 
capable.  But  Rebecca  was  offensive  and  unladylike. 
She  was  petty,  too,  and  unfair:  she  discussed  Grace 
with  the  others — Grace  knew  it  because  she  more 
than  once  caught  her  name  in  conversations  not  meant 
for  her  ears.     She  wondered  what  was  said. 


lis  Mis<  [NGALIS 

There  i  young  man.  by  name  Barvey  Stok 
who  haunted  the  house  and  was  sure  to  turn  ap  at 
the  places  where  they  wentr— a  suitor  for  Rebecca's 
favor,  plainly.  Sitting  ool  far  from  the  two,  Grace 
overheard  them  talking  about  her;  but,  sine-  they  did 
do!  Dotice  her  neighborhood,  she  did  ooi  move  out  of 
hearing,  embarrassed   by  the   feeling  thai   it   would 

barrass  them  to  be  made  aware  of  her.    "Grace- 
d,  and     I  gain,  and  '  I  The 

young    man    also    took    the    Liberty    of   calling    her 

1  •  :■ .  did  qoI  hear  the  rest,  until  her 

i  rjuotin  imething  she 

had  oei       aid — apoo  wi  knew  thai  the  two, 

ving   realized   her   presence,   \.        trying   to   mis- 
lead her  into  thinking  it  was  n<  her  they  m 
speaking,    bul    of    some    other    Grace.       I  de 
dare        Eto  i  ecca  said,  simulatii                     aestm 

'that    it    is.   firsi    and   la-:,  jusl    a   n.  ble   DUSUnder- 

indin  At   which   G  ■    Liberty   to   i 

and  tak<-  herself  farther.     It  was  :        ble,  «>t'  eoui 
that    they   wi       * . 1 1  k i 1 1 lt  about    another   Grace;   our 
heroine  had  own  opinion  as  to  that.    S  It 

that  g  tuted  an  offense  t<.  Rebecca  merely  by 

* 

» ■  \ i - t i n <_r  at  her  aide,  and  to  try  t«»  make  her  Bwain 

her  with  her  own  spiteful  eye  was  what  Bel 
would  vulgarly  do. 

These  things  troubled  Grace  only  now  and  then, 
and  for  minutes  at  .1  time.    There  was  t<».»  much  el 
making  demand   on   her   for  1 1 1 « » u lt  1 1 1    and   emotion. 


MISS  INGALIS  119 

Then,  there  were  Clare  and  Theresa — when  all  was 
said,  the  most  telling  personalities  in  the  house,  if 
not  the  most  important  persons.  Fortified  by  their 
approval,  she  truly  did  not  need  to  care  about  the 
others.  There  were  all  the  activities,  all  the  diver- 
sions. There  was  the  wonder  of  never  being  scolded 
or  disciplined  or  called  selfish  and  slack  and  ineffi- 
cient, and  made  thereby  to  feel  so,  hopelessly;  but 
being  represented  to  herself  as  the  precious  acquisi- 
tion, the  new  event,  the  bird-of-paradise  among 
crows.  It  was  mere  graciousness  to  make  little  of 
Zip's  and  Rebecca's  and  Alec's  discourtesies.  If  a 
twinge  was  inseparable  from  the  recognition  that 
someone  unkindly  did  not  like  you,  it  must  be  treated 
with  philosophy:  patience  for  the  present,  and  trust 
in  the  future  for  bringing  things  round. 


(  BAPTEB  XI 

GRACE    had   always   regarded   Bhopping   as   a 
wearisome,  (inescapable  annoyance;  but  buy- 
in         tty  things  for  a  bride,  with  Tl.        i  as 
an  at,  enthusiastic  and  indefatigable,  belong 

to  events  of  a  diff  Th        i  lightened 

the  burden  of  choosing  among  a  multitude  of  thin 
by   being  definite   in  quick   in   decision 

She  carried  the  mental         an  image  of  what 

Gr        raghl  to  look  lis  married  woman,  which 

« li  Grace,  with  I  ag  that  The- 

in  this  matter  i  I  Clare,  took  her  coun- 

sel in  ain.  without  demur. 

'   «  Bed  does  D  H   want   to  marry  a  little 

rent    girl!1     Th<  lid,   with   the   g        humored 

bluffi    ss  that   makr-   »  .  ppy  conveyance  t<>r 

criticism,  a-  she  sv  le  a  humbly  dainty  pile 

snowy  linen  with  Bmall  embroideries,  looked  upon 
with    l.  :    favor   by    Grace.    "These    monoto- 

.is  little  puritan  g  r  little  old  maids, 

my  dear  I     Y  >n  want   to  keep   Red  ca]        ted,  j 
kn..\\.     Nothing  in  your  life,  lei   me  tell  you,  will 
e  important  to  yon  than  that." 

A n.l  she  had  directed  the  eh         _-   with  Buch  ef- 

120 


MISS  IXGALIS  121 

feet  that  the  trousseau  which  Grace  found  herself  ac- 
quiring cast  her  in  a  state  of  vast  doubt.  But  when 
she  put  on,  to  try  them,  the  filmy,  lacy,  coquettish 
things,  she  could  not  but  be  struck  by  the  change 
they  wrought,  the  charm  they  imparted  to  the  figure 
before  her  in  the  glass.  She  captivated  herself 
while  revolving  the  thought  of  captivating  Clare. 
Was  it  possible  that  all  it  took  to  be  an  enchantress 
was  the  right  clothing?  .  .  .  Theresa  had  seemed  to 
regard  it  as  a  duty  that  she  make  herself  into  an  en- 
chantress for  Clare. 

As  she  gazed  into  the  eyes  gazing  back  from  her 
reflection,  potentialities  of  her  nature,  submerged  be- 
neath accumulations  of  training  and  maxim,  floated 
nearer  to  the  surface,  and  she  was  instructed  through 
all  her  quickened  nerves  of  the  zest  to  be  found  in 
cultivating  arts  of  beauty  for  the  power  that  beauty 
gives. 

While  Theresa  helped  Grace  to  buy  her  wardrobe, 
it  was  with  Clare  she  went  to  choose  the  more  im- 
portant pieces  of  furniture  for  their  house.  But  in 
the  minor  matters — draperies,  linen,  utensils — it  was 
again  Theresa  who  gave  the  advantage  of  her  lights. 

In  entering  the  new  house,  now  almost  ready  to 
receive  a  happy  bridal  pair,  Grace  would  still  have 
sometimes  that  old  feeling  of  being  in  a  dream.  No, 
it  was  not  possible,  every  appearance  notwithstand- 
ing, that  she  should  become  mistress  of  all  this.  .  .  . 


1<M  MISS   [NGALIS 

Which  did  not  preveni  her  acting  more  and  more 

like  one  with  authority  to  carry  ou1  1  h  r  ideas  in  her 

own  horn        imetimec  ing    but  amiably  ami 

dej        tingly — against     tl.      older     woman's     well 

inded  pi 

One  room  aboal  which  she  had  shown  herself  dis- 

•  unma:        ible  puzzled  Theresa. 

■  I \    child,'    sh(        d,   "1    ha',         trained    from 

opening  my  lips  od  the  Bubjecl  of  this  room,  as  I 

con  n  a  mother-in-law's  duty  to  shut  her  mouth 

on  many  she  's  burning  to 

have  her  Bay.     But  this  room,  Grace    it   pa         my 

•  why  ymi  have  wanted  it  just  Like  this,     it 

•  bit  lik-  rious  little  person." 

'It  i.s  oot  meant  for  me 

• '  1 1   \s    I  ii  ;     I    know    that.      1  it — 

sn't  Beem  a  bit  like  you  to  want  it  this  way. 
i  ihion,   I   grant  you ;  but  you 

could  have  had  it  -       lid  and  handsome  and  durable 
r  the  Bame  money.    This  all   look       i  flimsy  and 
•    rishable  and  feminine.     A  t-room  ought  to  1"' 

equally  appropriate  for  a  man  or  a  woman." 

"Jvoscs,    '  eyerywhen — '     murmured    Gri 

looking  around  her. 

"Yea.     But  that  rose  cretonne,  I  have  a  Btrong  do 
tion,  i  to  fade." 

"Like  real   roses,  then.     V7<       all  have  to  renew 
:n.    This  room,  Theresa  dear,  which  I  have  been 
f-willed  about,  has  been  arranged  to  pi         and 


MISS  INGALIS  123 

be  exceedingly  becoming  to,  the  first  guest  who  will 
occupy  it — the  guest  who,  as  I  hope,  will  make  us 
the  most  frequent  and  longest  visits.  In  composing 
it  I  kept  a  picture  of  her  before  my  mind.  I  also 
remembered  things  I  have  heard  her  say.  Her  tastes 
are  not  a  bit  like  mine.  It  will  all  the  more  be  ap- 
parent that  I  cared  above  everything  to  please  her." 

' ' What  friend  is  this,  Grace?" 

"My  very  dearest.  Outside  of  your  family,  I 
might  almost  say  my  only  one.  You  ought  to  be  able 
to   guess.     Mrs.    Lamont 


L. 

" Oh— Mrs.  Lamont." 


Theresa  seated  herself  on  a  chuffy  little  sofa  that 
was  like  a  lapful  of  pink  roses,  and  rested  her  feet  on 
a  rug  that  was  almost  white.  While  revolving  the 
name  she  had  just  heard  and  the  ideas  attached  to  it, 
she  looked  around  the  room  again,  as  if,  with  her 
new  information,  to  see  it  in  a  new  light.  Grace 
dropped  beside  her,  and  let  her  eyes  too  move  from 
part  to  part  of  her  creation,  smiling  with  pleasure 
at  the  light-minded  prettiness,  the  tender  gaiety  of 
the  whole. 

"Grace,"  said  Theresa,  "why  on  earth  did  you 
make  such  a  mystery  of  your  idea  in  fixing  up  this 
room  ? ' ' 

Grace  gave  her  an  arch  sidelong  look,  then  rubbed 
up  against  her  shoulder  disarmingly. 

"I  didn't  wish  to  be  struggled  with!" 

"Did  you  tell  Red?" 


124  MISS   [NGALIS 

I  trace  Bhook  her  head.    "  No.     Red  I        id  bo  oft 
that  I  'in  to  have  things  jusl  as  I  want  them.     Be  is 
fond  of  Baying,  too,  thai  the  queen  can  do  do  wrong, 
For  once,  I   fell  like  acting  upon  it.     Be  thinks  the 

»m   lovely,  anyhow.     Be  doesn'1   see,  as  yon  do, 
that  all  this  white  will  have  to  go  periodically  to  ? 
cleaners.     But   if  I   hail  told  him  thai   1   was  doing 
it  all  for  the  sake  might  have  ob- 

l.  Clare,    yon    Bee,    while    he    never 

grudges   me  anything   for  myself,  doesn't    approi 
1  have  disc        ed,  of  my  doing  unselfiah  thini        In 
tli-  ir  Ida  Lamont,  the  little  compliment 

embodied    in    this   room    would   come   as  fully 

from  him  ;t>  from  m» 

There   was   another  short   silence,   during   which, 
both  women,  with  very  different  thoughts 
in  their  minds,  let  their  •  around  the  fanci- 

ful, deliberately  frivolous  room. 

1  Theresa  again  Bpoke  op,    'talk  to  me    i 

little  about   this  Mrs.    Lamont.     How  did   you  come 
to  know  her 

My  father  had  taken  me  for  a  couple  of  weeks 
to  Sugar  Hill  in  the  White  Mountains— it  will  be 
four  years  ago  this  summer.     And  Mrs.  Lamont,  who 

Mi--  Ida  Manville  at  that  time,  was  Btaying  at 
the  same  hotel.     We  didn't  know  anybody;  neither 
did  she.     \\'.   _   •  acquainted  by  Papa  filling  her  gin 
for  her  in  the  spring-house.     After  that,   whenever 
she  went  to  drive  Bhe  asked  us  to  <_r<>  with  her,  and  we 


MISS  INGALIS  125 

returned  the  compliment.  So  we  were  a  great  deal 
together.  She  took  to  us,  as  she  has  told  me  since. 
And  we  delighted  in  her.  Yet,  except  for  a  Christ- 
mas card  the  first  year,  we  lost  touch  with  each  other 
after  we  came  away.  She  lived  in  New  York.  But 
she  had  said  she  would  be  sure  to  look  us  up  if  ever 
she  came  our  way.  And  she  did.  She  is  such  a 
faithful,  affectionate  dear.  Then — you  know  the 
rest:  how  she  picked  me  up  and  made  me  go  with 
them.     If  it  hadn't  been  for  that — " 

"You  might  never  have  seen  Red.  That  's  true, 
too.     Are  you  very,  very  fond  of  her?" 

"I  adore  her.  Even  aside  from  all  I  owe  her,  you 
have  no  idea  of  her  attractiveness,  her  delicious  fun- 
niness  and  good  spirits.  She  is  five  or  six  years 
older  than  I  am,  but  she  seems  younger,  somehow. 
And  then,  her  generosity.  I  believe  she  is  the  most 
generous  person  in  the  world.  She  gives  the  clothes 
off  her  back,  literally.  This  that  I  have  on  she 
made  me  take  because  she  couldn't  bear  the  sight 
of  me  in  mourning.  I  wear  it  all  the  time ;  I  love  to 
wear  it,  because  it  was  hers.  So,  you  see,  nothing  I 
do  for  her  can  be  too  much.     This  room — " 

"Grace,  I  'm  sorry  you  're  so  fond  of  her,"  said 
Theresa,  without  looking  at  her. 

' '  Sorry  ?     What  do  you  mean,  dear  ? ' ' 

As  if  with  an  effort  after  resolution,  Theresa 
turned  her  head  so  as  to  face  Grace  squarely,  and 
Grace  gathered  an  evil  omen  from  her  expression. 


12fi  MISS  [NGALIS 


I     :•:!       Try.    my   child,    because    I  *m    afraid    what 

I  Ve  got  to  tell  you  will  be  a  shock.  When  you  met 
Miss  Manville  at  your  mountain  hotel  you  knew 
oothing   what  about    her,   did   y<         5Tou   very 

iturally  Bupposed  she  was  all  right." 

what  are  you  trying  to  tell  met" 

"That  she  was  Dot,  my  child;  that  a  the  amounl 
of  it.     I  'm  awfully  sorry  to  you  a  disillusion, 

hut  1  don't  see  how  it  ran  he  helped.     If  you   • 
ing  to  aak  her  to  nail  you  in  this  house,  1  want  you 

[east  to  know  whom  you  iking.  " 

"  Then  sa,  3  ou  can 't  make  me  believe 

Little    «_rirl.    you    don't    claim    to    know 

the  world  very  well,  dow  do  Fo  1  're  quite  safe 

in  believing  what    I   tell  you.      I    have  no  intention  of 
•   unkind    word   about    your    frimi  bo,    I 

have  do  doubt,  is  nerou         thful  and  si 

oate  and  Lr-  od  fun  as  you  make  her  out.     What 

I    am    going   to   say    is    that    she    has    what    is   ral 

'past.'     Perhaps  you  won't  like  her  a  hit  Irss  for  it 
It  all  depends.     1  tat  it  does  ma'  in  the 

suitability  of  asking  fa  re.1 ' 

"  What  is-  there  again  Tl 

■  \v;  al  tl  ere  wot  against  her  was  a  disagreeable,  in- 
Dvenient,  anahakable  wife,  whose  husband  could  n't 
quite  make  up  his  mind   to  choke  her  and   marry 
Ida.     9     that    [da— adapted  I  1  the  circum- 

Lel  her  excuse  be  that  Bhe  loved  much,  and 
that  he  loved  equally.    This  went  on  for  years,  with 


MISS  INGALIS  127 

a  steadiness  that  gave  the  affair  a  kind  of — almost 
respectability.  Then  the  wife  providentially  was 
taken  off,  and  everybody  supposed  the  two  would 
marry.  But  no  such  thing.  By  that  time  he  had 
gotten  over  the  notion.  He  sneaked  out  of  it.  He 
had  the  excuse  of  a  young  daughter  due  to  come  home 
from  her  boarding-school  in  Europe.  Ida  was  ter- 
ribly broken  up  over  the  whole  thing.  But  she  made 
the  best  of  it  finally,  accepted  a  good  little  income 
from  him,  and  tried  to  forget  him  by  marrying  some- 
one else." 

"Oh,  poor  Ida!"  cried  Grace,  with  a  catch  in  her 
breath,  and  held  her  hands  over  her  eyes.  "Poor, 
poor  Ida!" 

"Yes,  my  dear.  Give  her  sympathy,  but  don't  go 
on  idealizing  her." 

"How  do  you  know  all  this?     Who  told  you?" 

"Who?  Red,  of  course.  Sydney  Morgan  was  a 
friend  of  his — member  of  the  same  yacht  club  at 
Jaffa  Road.  Red  first  met  Ida  on  board  Morgan's 
yacht.  He  had  to  have  some  place  besides  New 
York  where  they  could  be  together." 

"So  when  Clare  met  us  on  board  the  Pretoria, 
he- 


>> 


"Yes.  But  if  you  're  thinking  he  for  a  single  in- 
stant made  the  slightest  mistake  about  you,  you  're 
wrong.  No  one,  my  child,  could  make  any  mistake 
about  you,  no  matter  whom  you  were  traveling  with. 
He  saw  the  whole  thing  at  a  glance.     It  's  quite  like 


L*8  MISS  [NGALIS 

that  boiI  of  person,  you  know,  to  1"  leen  in 

pub         -  friends  with  someone   there  ean  be 

no  doubt    about.     Ami   she   had    her   excellent    old 

:iy  man  to  impress- 

••  Tl  •  :  sa,  don 't  speak  of  [da,  pi  i  *  thai  sort 

of  j  i.'  "  begged  Urace,  who  had  visibly  winced. 

And  please  nol  to  interprel  her  to  m<  You  can 
tell  me  facta,  if  you  have  them  to  tell;  but  to  me 
who  know  her-  know  her  nature  bo  really  well,  her 
large-hearted,  generous  nature    you  mustn't  explain 

her  n. 

"I    didn't   mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,  (i:  I 

you  think  thi  i  a   pli         it   duty  — " 

"Oh,   I   know   it   hasn't.      I   know   VOU  '  kind  as 

you  can  be.     But  now     now  what  am  I  going  to  dot'1 
"D        Nothing,    my    child.    That  s    the    point. 

Nothing.     1 1  !.  '•  ask  1  visit  you. 

■  I '>ut  v.  Bpoken  of  it.    SI  I  -  it.     I  owe 

her  so  much.     Without  her 
"You    regard    her    as    having    made    tin-    match, 
■l  made  it.  my  dear.     She  was  its  very  poor  in- 
t.     It'    vou    had    not    been    what    von    arc 

Four  connection  with  Ida  Lamont,  you  must         for 

3    irself,  was  hardly  a  recommendation. 
"Clare  and  shi        Died  Buch  good  friends!" 
"You  will  find,  as  you  iearn  the  ways  of  the  world. 

that   a  man   isn't   and  doesn't   ha\  particu- 

lar    as    a    woman.      Clare    no    doubt    liked    her    wry 
much.     That    3  rson     1   beg  your  pardon;  I 


MISS  INGALIS  129 

mean — ladies  of  her  kind  are  very  likely  to  be  just 
what  you  describe,  good-hearted,  lavish,  amusing. 
Red  would  very  naturally  take  pleasure  in  her  so- 
ciety. ' ' 

"Would  he  object,  do  you  think,  to  my  asking  her 
here?" 

"Grace,  don't  put  it  to  him.  It  wouldn't  be  fair. 
You  know  he  can't  refuse  when  you  ask — he  's  silly 
about  you.  His  not  having  told  you  about  Ida  him- 
self shows  how  much  he  would  hate  to  hurt  your  feel- 
ings. He  thinks  you  're  such  a  little  idealist. 
Doesn't  it  seem  to  you  he  deserves  some  considera- 
tion in  return?  For  a  young  bride  to  invite  to  her 
house  the  very  first  thing  a —  One  must  draw  the 
line  somewhere,  my  dear.  Things  have  a  way  of 
leaking  out  and  making  talk.  The  situation  is 
simple,  after  all.  Instead  of  asking  her,  you  don't 
ask  her.  When  the  invitation  to  visit  you  doesn't 
come,  she  '11  understand,  bless  your  heart.  She  '11 
think  it  's  Red  who  has  put  his  foot  down:  she  won't 
make  any  comment.  You  can  go  on  writing  to  her 
if  you  wish;  but  after  a  while,  you  '11  see,  the  thing 
will  taper  off  and  die." 

"No,  no.  I  '11  find  some  other  way  to  show  my 
gratitude." 

"My  child,  nothing  is  owed  her.  People  can't 
expect  everything.  If  you  have  the  fun  of  kicking 
over  the  traces,  you  can't  have  all  the  advantages, 
too,  of  being  moral. 


>  > 


10  MISS  [NGALIS 

'    1    don't    know    what    to    think.    There  1    don't 

know    how    I    fed  D01   talk  of  it   any   more  just 

now,   if  yon   WOllld  D  't    mind. 

With  a  blank  face,  Grace  for  a  little  while  Longer 
looked  Btraighl  before  her,  then  went  to  one  window 
after  the  other  and  pulled  down  the  shad--,  plunging 
the  thousand   r         In  .i  melancholy  whitish  gloom. 

When  G  d  the  following  day,  made  her  ap- 

black   dress   having   folds  of  shabby 
crap",  ti  ■  otion   n .i>  one  of  surprifl 

Then,  a-  Bhe  remembered,  impatience  crept 

through  1  ry  healthy  M<>..d.    She  sup]        I  th.it 

Grac<         itimental    little  was   signifying,   by 

putting  on  mourning,  h(  of  the  death  <>f  an 

illusion  or  of  a  friendship.     Bui  when  Grace    who 

rtainly  if  ah<        gh1   have  wept  in 

tie-   night  then   (i'  l   to   her, 

"Too  must  hHp  ne'  to  buy  an  even'  da\  di         black 

I  •  w  4 

is  all  I  have  ■  my  wedding  tiling,  which  I  sup 

pose  oughl  to  be  kepi  new,1    Tl         •  moved  on  to  e 
different    wonder,   and   only   after   a  deal   of 

thinking  cau         in  inkling  of  the  queer  young  ere 
tui       icruple.     And  then  si  till  mor<-  ironical. 


CHAPTER  XII 

JESSE  BLACK  and  the  other  men  of  the  family, 
Red  excepted,  betook  themselves  to  business  in  the 
morning,  democratically,  by  the  street-car.  Red 
drove  to  it  in  a  shining  buggy,  drawn  by  a  sleek  black 
mare  named  Kate,  which  a  spruce  young  negro  named 
Sam  brought  to  the  door  punctually  at  half  past 
eight.  Red  took  a  man's  delight  in  Kate,  her  glossy 
coat,  her  long,  free  stride. 

Often,  after  an  early  dinner  which  Grace  and  he, 
escaping  from  the  intrusive  crowd,  had  by  them- 
selves at  a  hotel  or  a  club,  he  would  take  her  driving 
behind  Kate.  The  days  were  long  and  pleasant,  the 
suburbs  in  flower;  the  country  had  that  freshness  of 
green  which  marks  the  last  of  May  and  the  first  of 
June.  Nothing  gave  Grace  so  much  delight  as  those 
rides,  with  their  miles  and  miles  of  sunset,  twilight, 
moon-  or  starlight ;  glimpses  of  ponds,  low  hills,  happy 
homes,  all  bathed  in  poetic  evening  haze.  In  the  easy 
silence  that  fell  on  them,  her  love  of  nature  took 
turns  with  the  other  love  in  lifting  up  her  heart. 

They  sometimes  had  quarrels:  Clare  could  not  al- 
ways know,  in  the  tossing  of  chaff  that  so  largely 
formed  their  conversation,   what  he   must  not  say. 

Clare  was  never — or  seldom — vulgar  when  he  was 

131 


Mis-  [NGALIS 

minded  not  to  be;  but  something  worldly  or  cynical 
or  conscienceless  would  now  and  then  escape  him. 
and  then  there  would  lie  the  genteel  prejudices  of  his 
beloved  to  reckon  with.  Grace  did  oot  find  requisite, 
for  assailing  him,  any  of  the  courage  she  had  Deeded 
to  oppose  Lydii 

The  poor  boy  was  touching  sometimes,  watching 
her  face  for  guidance  i  what  he  musl  avoid ;  touch- 
ing in  Ins  willin«rn<  ke  h  mything!— 

to  be  "ii  happj  .tin.     Making  up  was,  in 

fact,  •  it  \s  rth  while  to  quar- 

rel.    I  [e  [earned  from  those  p  under  her 

playfulne  was  always  serious,  while  she  found 

thai  under  his  seriousness  lay  mock- 
But   it'  ever  their  differei  1  the  flash 

b  thought  in  her  that  just  possibly  they  might  not 
happy  tog  he  would         to  herself:         me 

dors  oot  marry  to  1"'  happy.     One  marries  to  be  I 

ther.'      That  was  it:  for  better,  for  worse,  togeth 
In  the  adorable  moments  of  making  up.  she  knew 
that  do  fault    I    ire  might  have  could  l"-  bo  great 
the  Bweet  i  f  being  his  lo\ 

But  some  of  their  quarrels  had  no  reason  for  them, 

illy,  beyond  an  instinct   in  I  an   instinct   i 

old  as  woman-  I  sisl  the  domination  of  |  trong 
young  man  into  w !  hand  she  had  surrendered. 
That  tl.  jer  should  be  mi 

be  inept:  a  different  thing  must  he  pretended  for 
the  dignity  of  the  weaker,  for  the  Looks  of  the  thing. 


MISS  INGALIS  133 

She  quarreled  with  him  sometimes — fancifully, 
gracefully,  yet  with  a  grain  of  acrimony — because, 
merely,  he  was  he  and  she  was  she,  and  the  Ama- 
zonian drop  in  her  blood  drove  her  to  oppose  him, 
bother  him,  put  him  in  doubt,  deny  him  a  facile  tri- 
umph. For  her  lover  alone,  in  all  the  world,  the 
amiable  girl  reserved  a  side  that  was  a  little  difficult, 
incalculable,  and  that  while  keeping  him  guessing 
kept  him  bewitched. 

On  days  when  they  were  to  go  together  to  choose 
a  feather  or  twig,  as  it  were,  for  their  joint  nest,  he 
invited  her  to  lunch  with  him  downtown.  On  the 
occasion  of  a  painting  to  decide  upon,  she  arrived  at 
the  great  Overcome  Brothers  building  a  trifle  before 
the  hour  agreed  upon.  The  elevator  flew  with  her 
to  an  upper  floor;  she  passed  through  the  ground- 
glass  door  which  she  was  coming  to  know  well,  and 
which  to-day  stood  a  little  way  open.  Because  she 
could  hear  Clare  talking  to  someone,  and  because 
she  was  early,  she  quietly  took  a  seat.  The  revolv- 
ing chair  before  the  desk  of  Clare's  secretary  stood 
empty:  the  woman  had  gone  out,  for  her  lunch,  prob- 
ably. Clare's  desk  was  on  the  farther  side  of  hers, 
and  Grace  could  not  see  him  or  the  man  with  whom  he 
was  engaged. 

Business  talk  being  avowedly  dull,  she  reached  for 
the  nearest  book,  a  small  blue-bound  directory,  and 
turned  over  the  pages,  but  without  much  curiosity, 


l  ;i  MISS   [NGALIS 

to  which   of   her  acquaintances,   her  art-school 

mates,  were  in  it.  Any  one  of  those  girls  meeting 
Grace  now  must  have  wondered  at  the  change  she 
would  Bee  in  her — to-day  particularly,  when  Bhe  was 
arrayed  in  a  oew  dress  and  hat,  bought  to  replace  the 

ir  garments  which,  by  a  c  istlj  scruple,  she  refused 
to  wear  after  they  bad  been  traced  to  a  sour. 
impure         ydney  Morgan  the  disloyal:  a  dress  and 
hat  chosen  with,  among  the  dim  springs  of  action  at 
thr  back  of  the  mind,  the  object  of  making  herself 
Ear  ;h  she  might  into  an  enchanta 

The  color  of  her  dn  -  enhanced  the  clearness  of 
her  cheeks;  the  vel  idow  of  her  hat  brought 

.»ut  ii        ft  liriu'litii'  lirr  ■  I  tat,  more  than 

by  hat  <»r  di  r  the  far  great  ire  she  took  <>t* 
her  person,  <  changed  by  a  thing  with  which 

she  had  nothing  to  do:  by  her  glance,  which  in  th< 
days  provi         interest  -oh,  so  much  more  than  for 
merlj       I'  had  grown  deeper,  more  unreadable,  ami 
with  this  lovelier. 

She  laid  down  her  ln.uk  after  a  time,  concluding 
that  business  could  not  he  more  dry,  and  Lra\'-  her 

tention    I  I    I      .•■  'a    talk    with    this    man,    whom    he 

died  Quixy,  while  Quixy  more  punctiliously  ad- 
dressed  him  as  Mr.  Overcomi  The  tone  of  their  on- 
moderated  ?<  i^as,  on  one  side,  vigorous  and  ani- 
mated, characteristically  that  of  an  Overcome;  on 
the  other,  a  shade         nuating,  exculpatory. 

A  puck        Line  1  n  her  eyebrows  tx  long, 


MISS  INGALIS  135 

and  the  look  of  an  enchantress  left  her  eyes,  which 
grew  more  and  more  like  those  of  Winfred  Ingalis, 
with  his  pained,  incurable  curiosity  as  to  what  is 
wrong  with  the  world  and  why  people  gifted  with 
reason  and  soul  will  act  as  they  do. 

It  was  a  long  half  hour  before  the  secretary  came 
in,  and,  seeing  Grace,  slipped  behind  the  desk  to  ask 
her  employer  whether  he  knew  that  Miss  Ingalis  was 
waiting. 

In  an  instant  Clare  came  forward  with  a  delighted 
smile  and  greeting: 

"So  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  dear.  Have 
you  been  here  long?  Just  a  minute,  and  I  '11  be 
with  you. 


>  > 


The  large  oak-brown,  heavily  ornate  dining-room 
to  which  he  took  her  was  half  empty  when  they  were 
shown  to  their  little  table  near  a  window.  By  the 
time  the  dishes  he  ordered  had  been  brought,  there 
was  but  a  sprinkling  of  people  left,  for  it  was  hard 
upon  two  o'clock.  They  were  a  little  more  than  half 
way  through  the  list  of  good  things,  chosen  by  him 
with  a  girl's  tastes  in  mind  rather  than  his  own,  when 
it  struck  him  that  she  was  more  silent  than  usual, 
also  that  she  had  not  shown  herself  properly  hun- 
gry. He  observed  her,  and  did  not  fail  to  perceive 
the  line  between  her  eyebrows  which  made  her  re- 
semble her  father,  though  he  was  not  aware  of  the 
latter  fact  or  its  implication. 


i;i;  MISS  [NGALIS 

"Gi  lit*  said  finally,  "is  anything  the  mat- 

ter?" 

She  lifted  her  e;       Prom  her  plate  and  rested  them 
directly  on  him. 

••  5  id,  ai         i   moment 

A  fter  another  moment  — 

"Whal    "  be  .1-  jeously. 

There  was  another  pause,  during  which  she  11 
felt  to  screw  up  her  course 

The  matter  i^   -that   I  was  there  while  you  were 
talking  with  .Mi-.  Quixj 

"Wellf    he  asked,  with  flawless  composun 

"If  in.-  the  feeling,  Clare,  of  Listening  to  a 

anger,  an  entire  Btranger.     It  came  over  me  that 
you,  <  Hare,  wi  •  anger. " 

'Lit1        tie,'  il  indulgently,  "it  is  true  that 

I  don'1  ordinarily  talk  business  with  you,  wh  re 

there  would  be  novelty  in  hearing  mm-  do  it.  Bui  I 
you  mean  more  than  that.  What  exactly  do 
3  Mil  mean,  c .  ly  one  moment !  let  me  aol- 
einiih  entreat  you  nol  to  let  any  of  the  notions  you 
have  got  out  of  l"»uk^  run  away  with  you,  making  you 

unfair  to  those  who   run   this  world   in   the  only  way 

it  can  be  run. '" 

"  Well,  then,  '  be  fair:  listen  to  the 

id. -a  I  got  of  the  transaction  you  were  discussing  with 
.Mr.  Quixy,  and  -••••  if  I  have  got  it  correctly.     Will 

you  be  frank  .'      .Mr.  Quixy  1^  a  kind  of  agent  of  voir 
isn't   he 


MISS  INGALIS  137 

"A  kind.     He  's  a  lawyer." 

"  There  stands  in  Chicago  a  row  of  dwelling  houses 
which  you  have  been  trying  to  buy  up  in  order  to 
turn  them  into  a  branch  store. ' ' 

4 'Quite  so." 

1 '  You  had  bought  them  all  except  one,  but  the  own- 
ers of  that  one  asked  more  for  it  than  you  were  will- 
ing to  give.  You  offered  twenty-five  thousand,  they 
wanted  forty." 

"Which  was  out  of  the  question  for  a  tired  old 
building  ripe  to  come  down  anyhow." 

"Wait.  You  had  given  forty  apiece  for  the  other 
buildings  in  the  same  block,  hadn't  you? — though 
you  only  bought  them  to  pull  down." 

"True;  but  that  makes  no  difference — the  others 
were  better  property.  The  trouble  was,  the  owner 
of  the  house  that  had  been  standing  out  against  us 
was  a  woman,  perfectly  unbusinesslike,  who  had 
some  fool  idea  of  what  her  house  ought  to  fetch.  We 
were  in  no  particular  hurry;  we  wouldn't  come  to 
her  price." 

"You  offered  her  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  but 
she  wouldn't  accept  it.  She  too  could  wait.  But 
she  died,  and  when  the  affairs  of  her  children — 
minors,  girls — were  taken  in  hand  by  the  administra- 
tor, he  was  willing  to  make  the  sale  at  your  figure. 
Quixy,  your  agent,  before  concluding  the  affair  came 
to  talk  it  over  with  you." 

"Goon." 


1.-18  MISS  [NGALIS 

\m<1  you  found  explicit  and  emphatic  fault  with 
.Mr.  Quixy — gave  Mr.  Quixy  a  Btartling  piece  of  your 
mind— for  entertaining  such  a  thoughl  as  thai  of  buy- 
ing the  house  now  for  the  Bum  offered  at  first.    Gath- 

ing  that,  with  the  bread-winner  of  the  family  re- 
moved,  ruin  Btares  those  poor  creatures  in  the  face, 

ii  will  give  ten  thousand  for  it:  or  just  possibly,  if 
the  administrator  turns  out  to  be  sharp  enough,  yon 
will  up  to  twelve  thousand  five  hundred— one 

half  the  original  offer.  They  are  to  be  informed  that 
ifthej  don't  t,  you  -as  their  old  house  inclines  by 
several  inches  over  the  land  you  have  acquired  next 
to  tfa  iu  will  sue  them;  that  you  will  without 

.i  doubt  win  your  suit,  when  their  <>ld  house  will  be 
tern  down  by  order  of  tin-  court,  and  the  bare  pri 
of  the  lan.i  will  be  all  tl.  get    Clare, 

1  Lr"t  tli is  dreadful  Btory  straight T' 

"I         »tly.M 
And    -t flare    you  an    not  ■  <//'' 

Sitting  opposite,  they  could  look  squarely  into  each 
other's  I  l  i  ehingly  in  ( Hare 

which  seemed  t«»  her,  for  the  moment,  those  of 
an  utter  Btranger.  She  had  never  noticed  before 
thai  hi-,  like  Alec,  had  a  casl  in  out-  <•>.•    hut  oh,  very, 

rj   much  Blighter  than  Alec's;  it   in  truth  hardly 

isted  at  all;  it  had  nol  existed,  absolutely,  a  mo- 
menl  aLr".  she  could  almost  have  Bworn.    Clare's  ej 

blue  that  Bhe  had  described  as  fiery; 
but  at  this  point  i        r  acquaintance  with  them  they 


MISS  INGALIS  139 

were  cold  instead  of  fiery,  and  shut  as  a  porcelain 
ball. 

"Now,  Grace,"  he  began  quietly,  "I  ask  you  to  be 
reasonable  and  I  ask  you  to  be  fair.  Business  meth- 
ods are  what  they  are.  I  did  n  't  make  them.  This 
that  has  outraged  you  to  the  point  of  calling  me — po- 
litely, as  is  your  never  failing  habit — a  robber,  is 
what  any  business  man  in  this  city  would  have  done 
in  my  place.  Make  up  your  mind  that  your  school- 
girl morality  does  n  't  apply  to  grown-up  deals. 
Sentiment  has  no  place  in  them.  Am  I  in  business 
for  my  health,  do  you  think?  I  am  in  business  to 
make  money.  I  work  hard.  The  simple  world-old 
principle  is  to  buy  as  cheap  as  you  can,  and  sell 
as  dear.  The  transaction  you  have  described  was 
above-board,  perfectly.  The  thing  is  a  game,  my 
dear  girl;  both  sides  know  the  rules  and  play  ac- 
cordingly. 

' '  Those  people  wanted  to  do  us,  did  n  't  they  ?  They 
thought  that  if  they  held  out  we  should  eventually 
have  to  pay  what  they  asked,  which  is  a  lot  more  than 
the  house  is  worth.  And  we  should  have  had  to,  or 
give  up  the  whole  scheme.  We  should  have  paid,  in 
that  case,  exactly  thirty  thousand  dollars  more  than 
the  thing  was  worth.  They  would  have  made  a  round 
thirty  thousand  out  of  us.  The  tables  are  turned: 
we  shall  serve  them  as  they  were  going  to  serve  us. 
Only,  we  sha  'n't  make  so  much.  We  shall  turn  a 
poor  twelve  thousand  five  hundred." 


I  10  MISS  [NGALIS 

When  he  stopped,  On who  had  k •  •  p t  her  ej 

fixed  on  bis  while  he  talked  with  his  unflinchingly  on 
hers  drew  her  glance  away,  as  it'  with  difficulty,  and 

if  it  ached  from  the  strain.  It  fell  on  her  plate, 
where  she  saw,  as  if  very  far  away  and  unimportant,  a 
mound  of  strawberries.  Ber  glance  slid  from  tho 
in  a  lost,  unconscious  way,  to  Clare's  hand,  where 
it  lay  on  the  table,  pinching  and  releasing  th 
of  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs:  a  tint-,  strong  hand,  heavy 
but  well  Bhaped.  She  nol  is  having  some  indefin- 
able  l>rariiiLr   00    the   situation,    how.    from    the    point 

where  his  powerful  wrist   vanished  inside  tin-  wide 

bed  cuff,  t;  ;it    forward,   less  and   less  dm 

till  h  bis  knuckl*         miniature  jungle  of 

black.     Her   own    hand    lay    not    far    Prom    hi 
fragile   by    i'  ed    at    this   moment,    with 

tin  •  ss    of    her    mental    anguish,    around    the    1.,: 

of  ,t  tumbler. 

"Little  one,'  Clare  Ih-lmh  again,  now  with  <_r»-ntle- 
i  ess  and  pr<  in  his  voic<  *I  wish  you  showed  a 
little  more  confidence  in  me!  Make  up  your  mind — 
you  can  do  go  without  any  danger  of  going  wrong — 

that    I   'm    all    right.      You    don't    BUpp  at    big 

business  like  ours  lias  been  built  up  by  crooked  pro- 
edings  If  there  were  nothing  else-  it  wouldn't 
p,i;.  '  Say  to  yourself  that,  though  we  might  all  Im- 
crooks  at  heart,  it  would  n't  paj  V7e  have  our  credit 
to  uphold,  our  good  name  to  <_ruard.  Com<  His 
vi  iftened  Btill  more.    "Don't  you  think  you've 


MISS  INGALIS  141 

been  just  a  little  hard  on  me  ?  You  think  in  such  ex- 
aggerated terms.  Come,  now !  You  know  I  want  you 
to  have  just  what  you  want.  You  know  I  want  to  do 
what  you  want,  be  the  kind  of  fellow  you  want.  But 
your  ideas  of  a  man  have  been  gathered  from  books 
of  poetry,  I  'm  afraid,  0  amiable  one.  Come !  Stop 
thinking  hard  things  of  your  Beast  and  pay  a  little 
attention  to  your  strawberries.     Look  at  me,  Grace.' 

After  a  moment  of  silent  refusal,  she  obeyed.  He 
was  smiling ;  his  eyes  were  again  the  eyes  she  knew — 
knew  so  intensely. 

" Smile  at  me,  Grace,"  he  coaxed. 

But  this  she  would  not  do.  She  tilted  back  her  head 
in  the  pretty  overshadowing  hat  that  embodied  a  very 
innocent  idea  of  an  enchantress,  and  looked  at  him 
meditatively.  Grace's  upper  lip  could  curve,  when  it 
pleased,  with  a  beautiful  and  very  superior  scorn. 
Her  air  of  inveterate  good  breeding  clothed  her  at  all 
times  in  his  eyes  with  an  effect  of  pride;  when  this 
was  turned  into  a  frosty  armor  from  within  which  she 
looked  at  him,  lofty,  unapproachable,  the  thing  came 
near  to  being  insufferable.  It  was  vain  to  seek  for  the 
reason  why  those  girlish,  gold-brown  eyes,  of  an  ex- 
pression so  subtly  different  from  all  eyes  he  had  so  far 
gazed  into,  why  that  languid  rose,  her  rather  colorless 
but  sweetly  shaped  mouth,  affected  him  at  this  pass 
of  his  life  as  they  did.  It  was  vain  to  seek  for  the 
reason  why,  just  so  far  as  they  were  pleased  to  with- 
draw, he  must  insanely,  insatiably  pursue.  .  .  . 


1  t2  MISS  [NGAUS 

"Smile  at  mo.  I  '  ho  coaxed,  still  more  plead- 

ingly. 
■■  wii.it  is  a  smile  worth?"  she  I       tied  tl        ained 
u  of  her  ironica]  lip  to  ask,  with  a  bitter  inflec- 
tion. 

&  d  I  did  Dot  at  answer ;  Dor  did  he 

remove  I  From  hers,  whether  he  were  trying  to 

id  her  or  offering  himself  to  1"'  read.    The  Bilence 

was  sufficiently  long  to  permil  the  revolving  of  many 

thoughts.     II  r,  when  it  came,  fell  slowly: 

••  h  Lb  worth  twelve  thousand  five  hundred  dollars," 
he  said    and  lei  <>ut  a  greal  breath. 

< lr : •••  '-  ids    tin-  a    tide   of  lor 

moui  ■  he  metallic  hardness  melt<  d 

out  of  h.  -  3he  looked  as  it'  on  the  1 1 

be  looked,  when  she  had  taken  in  his  meaning, 
as  if  1"  f  the  power  i  b. 

A  -   for  him,  the  pleasure  of  his  g<  si  u 
him.     I  le  glowed. 

you  in  earm       i  lould  ool  Imt  in- 

credulously  ask-,  when  the  knot  in  her  throal  untied 
a  Little.    "Do  you  mean  that  you  will  let  those  poor 
things  have  their  twi        five- 
Be  '  "To  plea*  i."  a;  ntinn 

die  that  idow 

diploma  I  no  duality.     At  the 

turn  of  softness  in  her  I  had  *       irh  the  im- 

pulse to  reach   for  her  hand:  though  all  the  other 
its  had  by  this  time  left,  a  waiter  was  standing 


MISS  INGALIS  143 

where  he  could  keep  an  eye  on  them.  He  murmured 
a  word  that  took  the  place  of  a  caress. 

"  Psyche!" 

At  that  name,  the  tears  which  she  had  contrived  to 
keep  back  forced  their  way  into  her  eyes.  It  was  not 
as  he  excusably  supposed,  his  magnanimity  that  made 
her  cry — although  that,  after  her  great  alarm,  had 
brought  relief  so  great  that  only  the  shame  of  being 
seen  to  weep  in  public  had  saved  her  from  such  dis- 
grace :  it  was  that  Ida  Lamont  had  been  the  first  one 
to  call  her  Psyche,  and  the  poignant  image  of  that 
sweet  friend  floated  before  her  at  the  sound,  dear  and 
discrowned.  While  the  tears  trembled  on  her  eyelids 
and  she  strove  to  look  as  if  they  had  not  been  there,  a 
wave  of  a  different  sorrow  succeeded  to  the  pang  for 
Ida  Lamont:  it  was  a  passionate  regret,  a  veritable 
yearning  over  the  yesterdays  when  she  had  believed 
the  ideas  of  honor  of  the  persons  she  loved  to  be  the 
same  as  her  own. 

The  strawberries  were  like  sawdust  in  her  mouth 
when,  to  please  him,  she  tried  to  eat  them;  and  she 
did  not  recover  that  afternoon  the  blitheness  that  ani- 
mated her  so  often  when  they  were  together.  She 
was  subdued — and  no  wonder — by  the  burden  of  love 
and  indebtedness,  abasement  before  his  magnanimity, 
contrition  for  her  unjustice.  He  understood ;  he  was 
silent  and  serious  too,  in  sympathy. 

So  they  went  to  the  picture  dealers'  in  whose  win- 
dow he  had  seen  a  painting  that  impressed  him  fa- 


1  U  MISS  [NGAUS 

voral  completing  ornamenl   for  their  dining 

•  mi.     II-'  unshed  tor  the  corroboration  of  her 
before  making  the  purchase.    This  he  received  almost 
too  family,    she  was  stil  at-minded,  he  feared; 

she  did  ooi  care  much,  at  the  moment,  what  pictun 
hung  on  their  walls.     But  hen        sin,  1m-  under 
and  did  oof  bother  her  about  it. 

<  atching  chance  to  divert  her  he  Led  the  way 

into  the  exhibition  room,  where  a  small  miscellaneous 
collection  wa>  hung  <»n  maroon  walls  under  coolly 
showering  I 

Max  and   Bender's  exhibitions  are  usually  very 
choice     '  be  encouraged  her  t<»  take  an  interest. 

Ber   eyes,   after   ori<  circlu  that 

brushed   marines,   su  .   snow  bright    large 

fishes  on  a  plat ■  d  on  a  selection  tl         emed 

to  him  at  first  t  nothing  but  queer  unusual  to  the 
point  of  being  que<        Bis  natural  quickness  of  per 

ption  was  shown  by  I  gnition  of  that  pictui 

1  in  the  room  which  his  well  educate  l 
beloved  would  be  sure  to  take  to.  It  represented  a 
friar,  monk,  hermit,  ich  thing,  on  Ids  kni 

at  the  feet  of  a  kind  of  Bpirit,  saint,  vision,  or  ghost — 
.  spindling  female  in  white,  unearthly  pale,  ethen  iL 
Be  bent  forward  at  On  to  try  to  make  it  out. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  it        "  he  asked. 

"It  is  Saint  Francis  and  his  bride,  Poverty,"  she 
answered,  aftei        uspense  that  could  be  attributed  to 

iineertamtN . 


MISS  INGALIS  145 


"Oh,  is  it?" 

He  examined  it  more  minutely. 

"Grace!"  he  exclaimed  with  animation.  "That 
white  lady  has  a  kind  of  look  like  you!  Do  you  no- 
tice it?  What  a  funny  coincidence.  Who  painted 
it  ?  Nothing  but  initials.  '  A.  D. '  That  does  n  't  take 
us  very  far.  Wait  a  moment.  I  '11  go  and  find  out, 
and  the  price.  I  guess  we  '11  have  to  have  this, 
Grace." 

She  remained  gazing  at  the  picture  in  a  wonder  that 
affected  her  heart-beats:  they  had  slowed  and  thick- 
ened; they  seemed  to  burn.  She  decided,  with  very 
little  weighing  of  the  question,  not  to  reveal  the  fact 
that  she  was  acquainted  with  the  painter.  It  would 
infallibly  be  supposed  that  he  had  been  in  love  with 
her. 

Clare  came  back  disappointed. 

"Too  bad.  It  's  by  a  young  artist  named  Dane. 
The  man  says  it  's  not  for  sale." 


w 


CHAPTEB  XIII 

BEN    you    Love    a  great         I,    you    must 
t .  •■•  id ;.  •  it  deal.     Eon  must 

Listen  to  the  heart  rather  than  take  counsel 
from  the  head.     Love  is  very  mysterious,  but  1' 
ali         right— that  Lb  to  Bay,  if  it  b         it  enough,  if 
it  be  i        I  thoi         ;»  loves  thai  surge  from  below  the 
<]..  i. 

When  it  is  such,  y<ui  must  take  the  one  who  is  lord 
•    i  lord  of  your  breast  once  and  for  all 
as  your  share  in  Lif<  i  through  fire  and  water 

with — or  for 

If  a  thing  1m-  does  or  b   ges  your  consciem 

u  must  I         -  •  much  and  in  su<-h  a  way  that  yon  ''an 

Tiiake  him  see  that  he  is  wrong ;  on  the  other  hand,  you 

must  confess  it  when  you  are  in  the  wrong  j         if. 

JTou  mv  d  or  lost  together.    To  !..•  Lost  for 

love — would  it  not  be,  after  all.  a  kind  of  salvation? 

All  minor  things  must  go  over  the  hoard,  yea.  be 
melted  out  in  tl  •  _'reat  flame  of  Love  wl  rapreme 
right  every  drop  of  the  sincere  and  primitive  blood 
at'    itfl     ... 

And   the  tenetfl      f  this  evangel   must   be   *aid   over 

146 


MISS  INGALIS  147 

and  over  by  the  faithful,  must  be  clung  to  amid  seas 
of  doubt,  as  if  to  an  anchor  that  has  its  hold  on  the 
eternal  rock  foundations  of  the  world. 

Such  meditations  as  these  went  on  behind  Grace  In- 
galis's  brown  eyes  when  they  looked  merely  a  little 
absent,  fixed  on  a  flower  in  the  wall-paper,  or  motes 
in  a  sunbeam,  or  sometimes,  it  is  feared,  the  faces  of 
persons  who  were  talking  with  her. 

She  formed  theories  of  love  to  furnish  a  basis  for 
peace  of  mind.  For  each  person  in  the  world,  she  de- 
cided, there  exists  one  other  who  belongs  with  him, 
and  with  whom  destiny  in  secret  and  indirect  ways 
works  all  the  time  to  conjoin  him.  Falling  in  love,  as 
it  is  called,  is  not  a  matter — not  at  all ! — of  contiguity, 
opportunity,  youth  and  the  favorable  hour,  but  of 
things  appointed  from  the  beginning,  souls  making 
their  way  through  infinite  obstacles  to  the  single  goal, 
and  recognizing  each  other  when  met  by  the  sign  of 
the  right  ardor.  This  thought  gave  dignity,  justifica- 
tion, to  the  tender  exchanges  of  love-making. 

How  to  account  in  such  a  scheme  for  the  lovers  who 
gave  their  hearts  where  there  could  be  no  hope  of  re- 
turn? The  beloved  in  their  case  must  be  regarded, 
logically,  as  a  temporary  mistake.  But  if  one  ad- 
mitted the  possibility  of  mistakes,  must  not  one  ad- 
mit that  two  reciprocating  each  other's  passion  might 
be  victims  of  an  illusion? 

The  truth  was  that  when  one  began  to  inquire 
among  such  terribly  recondite  things,  and  tried  to 


I  M  MISS   [NG  \ l  is 

-  into  the  manifestations  of  life,  one  ended 

in  . 

Andreas  Dane!  Ho*  curious  to  think  of  him,  who 
occupied  in  her  Lii  small  a  place,  remembering  ber 
f.i.  accurately.  Lf  he  w<  c  ne  of  those  unhappy 
hearts  turned  from  the  true  course  by  an  unrewarding 
fancy,  she  Bent  him  a  mi  itter  kindni sa  for  I 

consolation.  She  visualized  this  as  a  bird  Lighting  on 
Ins  window-sill  and  singing  to  him  an  enheartening 
aong. 

It  !   strange         her,  all   the  same,   thai   he 

should  have  cribbed  her  idea  for  a  composition,  made 
a  picture  under  his  own  signature  from,  patently,  b 
pastel  sketch  submitted  on  the  screen  al  the  art  achooL 
She  had  nut  supposed  such  things  were  don< 

The  outcome  of  much  pondering  upon  latter  revel 
tions  was  tin  id  thai  if  a  who  is  not  ex- 

irupulous  is  magnificent,  there  is  d  be 

Imped  from  him  than  as  if  i  i  hair-splitting 

DscientiousneeB,  yel  incapable  at  the        it  momenl 

Bplendor  and  -.     A    ;  disposed  by  his 

nature  to  the  latter  may  learn  the  former— through 
influence  may  be  molded  and  led.  The  one  to  furnish 
that  influence  would  naturally  l»r  the  woman  he  loved. 

Words  could  never  do  il :  words  would  be  odious. 
Neither  could  it  be  dun.',  she  fi 

mmunications  of  mere  proximity.     1*  could  1"'  d< 
only  by  allurement,  fascination.     liatl  •         1  to  think 


MISS  INGALIS  149 

of,  after  the  lofty  thoughts  upon  love  in  early  girl- 
hood :  it  must  be  done,  in  the  case  of  one  kind  of  warm- 
blooded man, — or  not  done  at  all, — by  charm,  by  phys- 
ical beauty,  the  eternal  feminine  leading  him  on  to 
higher  planes  through  the  simple  appeal  at  first  of 
sense. 

That  was  the  sort  of  thing  which  Theresa,  when 
you  pinned  down  what  she  said  for  strict  investiga- 
tion, was  saying,  directly  or  indirectly,  all  the  time. 
"You  must  make  yourself  beautiful!  You  want  to 
keep  Red  captivated!  You  must  dress  to  please 
Red!" 

Since  it  was  Theresa,  the  honest,  the  normal,  the 
good-humored,  who  spoke  thus ;  and  since  it  was  Red, 
the  big,  the  kind,  the  right-hearted,  who  was  in  ques- 
tion, one  must  judge  that  experience  had  taught  them 
views  which  oneself  at  the  same  age  would  recognize 
as  sane. 

With  all  this  in  mind,  and  the  research  after  beauty 
placed  before  her  as  a  matter  of  merit  as  well  as 
pleasure,  the  young  woman  was  gracefully  pliant  un- 
der Theresa's  verdict  that  she  must  have  a  more  beau- 
tiful dress  for  the  Stokeses'  affair  in  announcement  of 
their  youngest  daughter's  engagement. 

' '  You  see,  my  dear, ' '  Theresa  said,  ' '  I  want  you  to 
look  your  very  best.  It  will  be  your  first  party  of  any 
importance  outside  the  family  circle,  and,  in  a  way, 
the  publication  of  your  engagement  as  well  as  Gertie 's. 


L50  MISS  [NGALIS 

I   want  them  to  Bee  whal  a  pearl  Red  has  caught. 
You  oeedn'1   bother  your  little  head  about   the  ex- 
be  dress  BhaU  be  nay  business. " 

Theresa  showed  by  her  interesl  in  this  dress  the 
if  her  wish  to  have  Red 'a  young  lady  ac- 
knowledged as  a  pearl.  Thai  word  -pearl— undoubt- 
edly inspired  its  Btyli  ,  It  was  all  flowing  veils,  foam- 
like, with  flashes  of  lustrous  satin,  and,  to  Lriw  a  touch 
of  color,  maidenish  forget-me-nots  aestling  where  the 
greal  French  dressmaker  judged  they  would  Look  most 
ravishing. 

■■  Stop  in  my  room  to  Lei  m<         yon  before  yon 

:t.'   Theresa  bade  her  on  tl.  of  the  par 

v.  hen  the  women  scattered  to  dn 

A:.  I  Qi  ped,  as  instructed,  in  the  room  wh< 

tin   l         •  mirror  dwelt    Theresa,  Pinky,  Si       tnd 
R  ..  who  f    •  till  one  carr  I  there, 

ready  to  go.    Gn        ould  Dot  but  notice  thai  their 
ball-dresses,  a  little  tired  at  the  end,  had  been 

thought  tough  for  the  Stoki  Theresa  made 

r  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  slowly  turn. 

<  trace  grew  ih  an  intensity  of  in1 

on  the  part  of  the  three  besides  Th<         who  watch 
her  as  did  □  I  to  her,  really,  quit  tnted, 

and  she  smiled  to  signify  it.    She  blushed  under  their 
then   with   ;i   timid   boldness   threw   back   her 
drooping  head,  a  little  overweighted  by  the  hair  which 
si,,-  i     ;     rranged,  as  [da  Lamont  had  taughl  her,  in 
way  as  to  make  it  more  voluminous  without 


MISS  INGALIS  151 

its  appearing  less  massive.  Theresa  ran  her  eye  over 
her,  from  shiny  top  to  shiny  toe,  and  nodded. 

1 '  You  '11  do,  I  guess ! ' ' 

To  carry  farther  her  idea  of  pearliness,  she  placed 
in  Grace's  hand  a  pearl-sticked  fan,  painted  with 
white  doves  and  white  roses — a  contribution  of  Red 's, 
she  said. 

As  Grace,  full  of  pleasure,  spread  this  before  her  to 
see  the  effect,  she  beheld  at  the  same  time  a  reflection 
of  Eebecca  watching  her  with  a  disdain  so  deep  that 
the  sight  of  it  checked  her  breathing.  But  Grace's 
mood  to-night  was  not  quarrelsome.  Her  eyes  gave  to 
the  glowering  eyes  in  the  mirror  the  soft  answer  that 
is  said  to  turn  away  wrath.  ' '  Why  do  you  hate  me?" 
they  asked.     "  I  am  so  willing  to  be  friends ! ' ' 

Shut  in  the  coupe  with  Clare,  she  was  first  of  all 
kissed — a  ceremony  by  which  the  joy  of  being  alone 
together  was  punctiliously  celebrated.     Right  after  it : 

"I  have  something  for  you  in  my  pocket,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  Clare!"  she  protested.  "You  mustn't  be 
always  giving  me  things,  dear!  When  you  know  I 
shall  never  make  any  return :  never  embroider  for  you 
any  of  those  lovely  suspenders  which  more  talented 
ladies  make  for  the  gentlemen  they  esteem,  nor  a 
smoking-cap,  nor  Berlin  wool  slippers." 

"London  Bridge  is  falling  down,  my  fair  ladly! 
Which  had  you  rather  have — or  a  string  of  pearls  ? ' ' 

"A  string—    Oh,  Clare!" 

It  was  not  so  dark  in  the  coupe  but  she  could  see 


I  MISS   [NGALIS 

white  gleam  as  he  drew  it  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket. 

"Lei  y.iur  wrap  Blip  back  a  littl<  he  said,  '  i  I 
can  clasp  it  oil     Then 

"Oh,  I  can  feel  its  weight,  Clai  It  Lb  like  the  soft, 
cool  touch  <•}'  a  hand.1 

"Let  me  be  poetic  for  once.  May  the  bonds  I  shall 
Lay  "ii   you,  sweethi  be  n<»  heavier  and   do  \< 

dt  nr.  " 

"Oh,  (  flan  I "  sig]  and.  overtaken  by  a  i 

si!-'         ry,  pi  cheek  against  bis  coat 

Bach  had  been  rather  i         usly  I         r  toward  | 
other  of  la1       Her  impulse  had  been  to  hide  her 

his  shoulder  to  shut  out  thi  self 

had  c  1 ;  bis  r  tlm  iinpr*  vsions  can 

Be  surround*  d  her  oow   with   his 
arms,  and  in  the  Bil<  pin  how  below  all 

such  trivial  il        -  thoughts  and  reasons  lay  the  strong 
•  the  Bimple-minded,  old-fashioned  heart  binding 
her  to  thi>  one  man  out  of  the  millions  of  men. 
It  wa^  on  ber  li:  Lei  as  Dot  go  to  the  pai 

all!    Tell  the  driver  to  take  us  Into  the  moonlit 
ontry  i'         I."  when  the  I        on  her  liair  whis- 
pered: "1  want  my  pear]  of  girls  to  1     tl     q  i«  n  and 
the  belle  this  evening.     I  want  to  wear  her  Like  the 
jewel  of  my  good  fortune 

When  Grace  entered   the  Stol        '  drawing-room 

with  Clare  and  Theresa,  it  b         1  to  her  thai  a  hush 


MISS  INGALIS  153 

fell,  and  that  all  eyes  were  for  a  moment  turned  on 
her. 

An  absurd  thought  crossed  her  mind:  "Is  it  pos- 
sible that  I  am  lovelier  than  I  had  ever  suspected?" 
Then  she  bethought  herself  of  her  dress,  her  fan,  her 
necklace,  and  placed  the  glory  where  it  belonged. 

The  fiancee  whose  betrothal  was  sociably  solemnized 
that  night  was  the  young  sister  of  that  Harvey  who 
had  hopes  of  winning  Rebecca.  Grace  had  seen  her 
before,  as  well  as  the  happy  young  man.  But  the 
older  Stokeses,  the  parents,  were  strangers  to  her. 
The  eye  could  easily  find  them:  they  stood  with  the 
rest  of  the  family,  aligned — according  to  the  stiff 
manner  of  formal  occasions — and  "receiving"  in 
front  of  a  mantelpiece  banked  with  roses,  as  was  the 
fireplace  below. 

As  Grace  and  Clare  approached,  a  jostle  occurred, 
then  a  break,  in  the  row  of  smiling,  handshaking  per- 
sons arrayed  there — caused  by  one  of  them  sharply 
facing  about  and  escaping  from  her  post,  while  the 
others  turned  their  heads  for  the  briefest  moment  to 
look  after  her.  Grace  saw  vanishing  in  the  far- 
ther drawing-room  the  back  of  a  golden  head  above  a 
neck  and  shoulders  of  rose-misted  marble  rising  from 
a  bodice  of  black.  The  small  episode  had,  to  her  scant 
attention,  the  commonplace  look  of  an  impulsive  per- 
son reminded  of  some  such  thing  as  a  gas-jet  left 
flaring  near  a  blowing  curtain. 

A  band  of  Neapolitan  musicians  in  an  operatic 


154  MISS   [NGALIS 

adering  of  their  Dative  costumes  were  picking  t  h*» 

■i!iLr>  of  mandolins  and  guitars  amid  the  Luxurious 
greenery  of  the  bay-window.     Prom  time  to  time  thi 
sang;  but  their  song  was  drowned  by  the  chattering  of 
the  people,  who  at  Deed  raised  their  iroi«         as  to  be 
heard  above  the  dulc        ains. 

"Yon  are  a  vision  to-night!     Ton  are  a  dream  I M 
(Mar.-  benl  bis  lead  to  breathe  in  Grac  .       they 

oear  the  music  and  the  open  windows. 
Au.l  I        •.  uplifted,  inspired,  bloomed  and  radiated 

me  oever  bad  before. 

Tl  tioo  of  something  onusual  was  in  the  fa 

Alec,  when  h<  1  tin-  room  to  join  her 

Clare  was  leaving  her  Bide  to  respood  to  the  greeting 

sign  of  an  old  friend  whom  he  wished  to  bring  over 

duction  i'»  hi 

' '  Well,  ( ! ra<  A!  ;      he  alu a\ a  winced  at 

igh  she  would  b  -       aid  thai 
it    wi  and   she    had    do   objection. 

"Are  you  accepting  compliments  tin  You 

have  mi'         5  >u  can  have  me 

\    room  had  beeu  made  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  for 
a  little  danrini:  if  tin-  youj  tared  aboul  it,  and 

•heir  work  au  ay  from  tl  ipol- 

ins,  had  -truck  up         Itz,  be  asked  her  to  give  him 

that  dan 

B  it  Gra         <»<.k  her  head         ^i\>\  it  was  too  warm, 
whereupon   A!--        •  kinLr  n<>  farther  for  a  partner, 


MISS  INGALIS  155 

took  the  fan  out  of  her  hand,  and  with  an  air  of  gal- 
lantry devoted  himself  to  fanning  her. 

Junior,  wearing  on  his  face  the  same  look  as  his 
brother,  of  following  the  lead  of  a  light,  responding  to 
the  power  of  a  spell,  came  to  ask  her,  rather  unimagin- 
atively, how  she  was  getting  along.  Junior  never 
ventured  to  call  her  anything  but  Miss  Ingalis.  Both 
youths  seemed  to  her  to-night  rather  nicer  than  she 
had  lately  thought  them.  Nature  has  had  the  justice 
to  arrange  that  the  visible  melting  of  the  masculine 
being  under  the  fire  of  beautiful  eyes  should  touch  to 
sympathy  the  beautiful  eyes.  Junior,  too,  asked  her 
to  dance;  but  she  answered  him  as  she  had  answered 
Alec. 

When,  therefore,  Clare  returned  and  asked  the  same 
thing,  though  she  wished  very  much  to  dance  with 
him,  she  repeated  the  excuse  she  had  made  to  his 
nephews.  The  nephews  had  discreetly  melted  away 
when  they  saw  Red  returning.  He  only  laughed  and 
held  out  his  hand  for  hers.  Hoping  that  the  boys 
would  understand,  she  rose  and  rested  her  bended  arm 
on  his  shoulder,  and  was  floated  away  on  the  tide  of 
the  waltz. 

Few  were  dancing — it  was  in  truth  too  warm. 
Seeing  before  long  that  they  were  the  only  couple  on 
the  floor,  Grace  would  have  liked  to  stop ;  but  the  im- 
pulse of  Clare's  arm  resisting  hers  swept  her  along, 
round  and  round,  strongly  and  smoothly.    People  were 


L56  MISS  [NGALIS 

watching  them  she  could  feel  it.  She  also  felt  tl 
thia  was  an  evening  of  triumph  for  her.  Clan 
declared  it.  and.  conscious  of  herself  through  him  and 
ihr  glances  following  them  as  slender  and  Light-footed, 
■  ■fill  and  luminous,  she  yielded  herself  with  a 
happy  abandonment  to  the  arm  which,  as  the  music 
kepi  "ii  and  on  for  their  Bakes  and  her  strength  began 
to  fail.       ■  i'-<l  her  almost  bodily  over  tin*  flo 

When  they  8  d  with  the  I.        hord,  there  v. 

a  patt  hand-clapping;  Theresa  led  it. 

Clare,  do  i •  - 1 1  me.  it'  you  can.  who  that   lady  is 
over  tl.  :ed,   while  thej    were   resting 

where  tin-  June  br  il<l  puff  in  on  them  through 

the  parted  curtains.    "Don't  turn  for  a  minu       ihe 
is  Looking  id  our  di         m.     I  have  found  her  Looking 
ral  times,  as  if  she  w<        imeone  I  ought  to 

>ognize;  yet  I  can         member  •••         eing  her  b 
foi        I  mean  the  very  beautiful  one,  with  gold  hair 

and  a  Mark  «ln  i  rriinxm   i  il   the  of  her 

Clare  turned  with  tl         (it  circumspection  and  air 

of         Lesaness.    Alter  a   second,  turning  again,  he 

i  in  a  tone  of  disdainful  disparagement :  "Do you 

call  that   briiiitiful?" 

ed.     "  Don 't  j on  F"  she  asked. 
Then  she   perceived  that  she  had  fallen  into  a  trap: 
this  \  Clare's  jokes,  a  way  <»f  briny  rompli- 

mentary  to  her  by  pretending  not  to  admire  any  other 
woman,  by  nut  condescending  to  consider  any  style 


MISS  INGALIS  157 

beauty  but  her  own.     But  when  Clare  went  on,  it 
really  sounded  as  if  he  were  serious. 

1 '  Can 't  you  see  ?  She  's  painted.  And  she  's  laced. 
And  I  'd  be  willing  to  bet  money  God  never  made  her 
hair  that  same  splendacious  gold  color." 

"Oh,  Clare!"  said  Grace,  unable  to  repress  her 
surprise,  "do  you  honestly  think  that?  To  me  it 
looks  so  exactly  right  and  natural ! ' ' 

"I  love  your  innocence,  my  love !  Come,  you  ought 
to  make  her  acquaintance.  She  's  one  of  the  family. 
Mrs.  Fenn,  divorcee,  Harvey  and  Gertie's  sister,  the 
Stokeses'  eldest  daughter." 

The  lady  in  black,  seeing  them  approach,  waited, 
statue-still.  A  sister  of  Venus,  was  Grace 's  classifica- 
tion of  her.  She  had  the  hair  of  burnished  gold,  the 
sapphire  eyes,  the  flower-fair  skin,  pink  and  white,  the 
soft  roundness  of  form,  the  charming  clearness  of 
feature,  that  painters  from  of  old  have  lent  to  the 
Sea-born.     Her  face  had  literally  no  fault. 

"How  can  anyone  look  at  me  while  she  is  there?' 
thought  Grace,  sincerely,  and  not  without  a  pang. 
She  saw  herself  as  a  goose-girl  standing  face  to  face 
with  a  goddess.  But  in  this  she  was  not  just  to  her- 
self. She  was  not  beautiful  in  the  same  sense  of  the 
word  as  Mrs.  Fenn;  but  the  fact  proved,  somehow, 
no  inferiority.  No  person  of  discernment  would  have 
thought  of  comparing  them:  nature,  when  she  made 
the  two,  had  so  perceptibly  not  been  trying  for  the 
same  end.     Grace  was  pallid,  toneless,   glimmering, 


[58  MISS   [NG  \ I  IS 

efl  beside  Mrs,   Penn's  direct  and  pointed  per 

ona  ;  but  M  re,  Penn  p  obvious  as  the  red  n 

she  was  wearing  by  the  side  of  I  trace  I  agalis,  with  hi 
Little  air  of  bouL 

When  Clare  had  made  the  presentation,  bin    Penn 
said : 

this  is  the  young  Ladj 

•  he  3  oung  ladj , '  *  said  <  Jlar 
ratulations  ratulations.     I     I  I         not 

i  .-in  ir  \".         to  the  Wes1  I odies,  ( Jlar 

enc       I'      '  did  yon  all  the  good  you  hoped    as  I 

All  ti  I   in  thf  world.     \  •  i,  yon  behold  a 

cured    man.  i    remember,    little    one,"— this    to 

"that  it  was  becaus  nerves  in  danger  of 
pr  lion  1  had  cut  1'  from  basin  ess  in  midwinter 
and  \v.i>  traveling  on  the  P  I  forget  now  that 

I  ever  had  oerves"     tl  s  again  to  Mrs.  Penn.    "Mat, 
Bleep,  transacl   busu         dance,  and   am   by  way  of 
•  ing  married.91 

•Mure,  my  dear  friend,  congratulation       »n- 
gratulations,   with  all   my  hearty1       kid    Mrs,    Penn. 
Her  voice  had  faded  «>n  th<-  Ias1  syllabi        3he  bit  I 
lip,  and  pr  hand  over  the  place  <<i'  the  just  men- 

tioned i        .  while  the  shoulder  e-misted  marble 

harp  pain. 

K  t.  who  with  Harvey  had  1 n  standing  near, 

watching  her  from  behind,  was  al  her  >-\dr  with  a 

a  arm  around  Mrs,  Penn  and  drew 


MISS  INGALIS  159 

her  away,  the  latter  gasping  a  little.  They  passed 
under  the  arch  dividing  the  drawing-rooms,  and 
reached  a  sofa,  around  which  a  group  quickly  formed. 

Grace  turned  an  astonished  and  afflicted  face  to- 
ward Clare.  He  looked  excessively  quiet,  ironically 
untroubled. 

"She  's  such  an  actress!"  he  muttered,  in  reply  to 
Grace's  questioning  face;  in  his  mustache,  with  fiercer 
disgust,  he  grumbled:  "She  's  such  a  liar! —  You 
needn't  be  alarmed,  Grace.  Come  away.  Let  's  go 
and  sit  down." 

Eebecca  passed  them  hurriedly. 

1 '  What  's  the  trouble  ? ' '  Clare  asked  carelessly. 

His  niece  gave  him  a  look  of  black  hate  and  con- 
demnation that  included  Grace. 

"I  'm  going  to  her  room  for  smelling  salts." 

Clare 's  ironical  calm  was  not  shaken. 

"Don't  be  taken  in,"  he  said  to  Grace,  not  alto- 
gether liking  the  look  in  her  eyes,  and  wishing  to  re- 
move the  possible  idea  that  he  was  cruel.  "She 
hasn't  anything  more  the  matter  with  her  heart  than 
I  have  with  mine.  I  've  known  her  for  a  long  time. 
It  's  temper.  It  's  her  way  of  making  herself  inter- 
esting. ' ' 

The  gaiety  of  the  party  was,  in  fact,  not  destroyed 
by  Mrs.  Fenn's  momentary  ill  turn.  She  was  seen 
later,  somewhat  pale,  but  showing  in  laughter  the 
magnificent  teeth  that  made  of  her  mouth  a  crimson 
rosebud  filled  with  snow,  as,  standing  at  the  supper- 


160  MISS  [NGALIS 

table,  Bhe  ladled  punch  from  a  gleaming  block  of  ic 

Uowed  '»ut  and  crowned  with  vine  l- 

Sow  beautiful  Bhe  is!'    thought   Grace.    "How 

beautiful  a       iV      She  could  qo1  help  feeling  sorry 

for  her,  liar  and  ss  though  Bhe  mighl  be.     But 

was  slr\  entirely  irelj  Bhe  had  been  in  some  kind 

pain. 

ning  wi  od.    Among  the  last  to 

leave,   I  followed   Theresa   to   the   upper   room 

where  their  wraps  had  been  left.  Turning  from  the 
glass  after  adjusting  I.  ind  Mrs.  Penn 

at  her  elbow,  bo  close  and  unez]         i  that  her  Burpr 
partook  of  fright 

Mrs    Penn,  showing  fa  th  in  a  oed  smile, 

was  looking  at  (irace  with  •        that  appeared  black 
instead  of  blue,  under  the  writhing  line  of  her  ej 
brows. 

■*  I  did  nol  1  night  to  you,"  she  said,  i 

tending  her  hand,  and  when  Qrace  had  given  hi 

t>und  it  in  a  grip  that  hurt    "I  did  not  congratu- 
\ on  •  arlier  in  tl  My  eongratulal ions 

were  all  for  Clarence.  *  vou  are  to  be  congratu- 
Lated,  too.     V  a  prize,  let  an  old  friend 

of  his  tell  you,  who  known  him  a  long  time,  and 
pretty  well.  First  of  all,"-  -her  beautiful  mouth  was 
twisted  to  a  grimace  by  t;  m, — "fir 

of    all.    bo    chivalrous!    Then — so    faithful!    True! 

Tender  and  true— that  's  it  I "' 


MISS  INGALIS  161 

"Be  careful,  Grace!"  came  a  sharp  warning  from 
Theresa. 

Grace  turned  quickly  to  ascertain  what  there  was 
to  beware  of;  but  the  warning  had  obviously  been 
given  to  the  other  woman,  at  whom  Theresa  was  look- 
ing with  a  frown  of  wonder  and  reproof,  and  who 
now  relaxed  her  vicious  grip  on  Grace's  hand. 

"Yes,"  she  laughed — and  there  was  a  catch  in  her 
laugh,  like  a  sob;  "I  must  be  careful,  or  in  my  en- 
thusiasm I  might  bring  on  another  heart  attack." 

Her  hands  were  laid  over  the  seat  of  the  endan- 
gered organ,  and,  biting  her  lip  as  before,  she  drew  in 
a  long  breath,  as  if  with  difficulty,  and  turned  for  the 
door.  Theresa's  gaze  as  she  looked  after  her  had  the 
same  scornful  composure  and  coldness  as  Clare's  with 
regard  to  Mrs.  Fenn. 

"I  can't  think  what  's  got  into  her!"  she  said,  with 
a  shrug  that  dismissed  an  insignificant  bother.  "I 
should  say  she  needed  a  keeper.  Hasn't  she  been 
queer  this  evening?  What  she  's  got  against  Red  is 
just  some  imaginary  slight.  He  doesn't  admire  her, 
you  know,  as  she  is  used  to  having  all  the  men  do. : 


>  > 


It  was  a  long  time  before  sleep  came  to  Grace.  The 
stimulations  of  the  evening,  impressions  of  music, 
lights,  flowers,  faces,  talk,  stir, — the  remembrance  of 
salient  events, — were  slow  to  grow  confused  and  fade. 
The  necessity  also  of  lying  very  still  so  as  not  to  dis- 
turb Sita,  who  had  dropped  into  sea-deep  slumbers, 


16*  MISS   [NGALIS 

helped  to  keep  off  sleep.  Bui  at  last  it  was  there,  the 
dreamless  trance  of  otter  fatigue  held  her  bound. 

(  face  m  every  Long  w  bile  a  streel  -car,  the  noisier  tor 
being  empty,  would  slide  rumbling  past  <>n  the  rails 
before  the  house;  no*  and  then  a  string  of  footsteps 
or  of  boof-1  would  grov<  from  oothing  into  ooise, 
and  dwindle  into  nothing  again.     But   m  the  bouse 

all  Wfl  I  e. 

The  raj  I  lamp  brightening  the  ceiling 

made  visible  the  {>;•  of  furniture  the  little  drift* 
of  clothing  [aid  off  by  two  tired  and  c  e  young 
girls.  Light   picked  out   on   the  dark  carpel   a 

pair  of  Blender,  high  i  slipp 

I  n   that   dark  I    hour  of  all.   w  bich    I  des 

dawn,  a  small   commotion  developed   in   the  Btr 
under  the  open  n  indoi  mutter  of  \ oi< 

a  Stifled   I'f  am — 

Qi  t  bolt  uprigl  id.     Ber 

heart  had  jumped  and  was  nishing.  .  .  . 

There   was    QOthing   m<  d»'ad    «|iiirtn»'>s    had    re 

turned  to  the  street      I  ild  not  know  whether 

shriek  that  had  Btartled  h  me  from  with- 

out or  within  herself  —whether,  indeed,  it  had  been  a 
shriek  and  ool  a  lightning-flash  or  the  rending  from 

top  to  bottom  of  a  curtain. 

"1  musl  'it  of  this  houa  Bhe  said,  with  a 

conviction  the  force  of  which,  there  in  the  oppressive 

darkness,  clenched  her  hands  and  locked  her  jaws. 
"  1  must                 f  this  house 


CHAPTER  XIV 

GRACE  and  Sita  had  a  quarrel  next  day,  the 
true  cause  of  it  probably  being  that  both  were 
tired  from  the  evening  before  and  enervated 
by  the  first  hot  weather,  but  the  ostensible  cause  Sita's 
deplorable  lack  of  reasonableness.  It  began  with  her 
requesting  Grace  to  stop  writing  and  come  sit  in  front 
of  the  glass  to  let  her  fix  her  hair  like  Gertie  Stokes 's. 
Grace  excused  herself  and  went  on  with  her  letter. 
Sita  cared  very  mildly  about  the  amusement  she  had 
proposed,  but  she  had  nothing  better  to  do,  and  felt 
the  urge  to  use  up  a  little  of  the  nervous  fluid  sur- 
charging her. 

Who  are  you  writing  to?"  she  asked. 
To  my  sister,"  answered  Grace,  without  looking 
up. 

Feeling  Sita  creep  behind  her,  Grace  laid  a  hand 
across  the  sheet  of  paper,  and  turned  round  with  a 
frown  that  was  ominous,  had  Sita  been  shrewd  enough 
to  see  it. 

But  she  laughed  out  in  silly  glee :  "  I  don 't  believe 
it  's  to  your  sister ! ' '  and  danced  out  of  reach,  in  de- 
light over  the  brightness  of  her  joke. 

' '  If  you  look  over  my  shoulder,  Sita,  I  shall  tear  the 
letter  sooner  than  let  you  read  one  word  of  it, ' ' 

103 


164  MISS  [NGALIS 

'That     shows,     doesn't      it?     That     shows!     Ah 

(  aught !     I         |  A  to  find  out  who  you  're 
writing  to.n 

■  •  Yon  are  warned,  3ita  i  don '1  r  me.     It  'a 

my  day  for  not  earing  to  be  t< 

Oh,  it         mi  day.     It  ">  my  day  for  wanting  to 
:t  tlir  model  girl  of  the         '1  is  lik(  when  she 
loses  her  temper. 

5    u  will,  i'       .  try  to  read  over  my  should<  r,     I 
have  had  more  tl         Qougfa  of  your  bad  manners." 
This  was  tln«  first  time  iu  their  el        ind  over-clo 
quaint  t  Gi  patient  pla; 

fulness  when  o]  avasionfl  and 

in.  Sita,  in  an  aston         rly  si  ioment, 

turned  sober,  gloomily  n  iciously  still     It 

might    ha\  es.snl   rl  w   light    had.   at 

word,  given  to  the  J'.:-*  •'  oew  as] 
■ '  I  suppose  if  ful  st "no  i.n  and  j our 

od  manners  right  along  to  live  wit         and  our  b 

main  1. 

••oh.  sita  :"*  broke   forth   Gi 
away,  will  j  ou  I  and  [el  me  alone 

"You    !•■   QOt   any  sicker  of  me,    I    may   as   well    t.'ll 

i.  Grace  Ingalis,  than  I  am  of  you!  cried  Sita, 
shaken  by  a  sudden  tempest.  "I  've  tried  everything 
to  pl<        you.     I  Ve  done  all   I   know  how.     But   I 

sha'u't   after  this.      Wait   and  see.      Now    I    know  how 
you  look  "ti  inc.  I  \vuii"t  I"-  any  BUCh  fool  !' 

Grace  let  her  flounce  out  of  the  room  without  a  word 


MISS  INGALIS  165 

to  stop  her,  then  tried  to  forget  the  discomfort,  the 
shame  of  their  passage  of  arms,  and  center  her  mind 
on  the  business  in  hand — needless  to  say,  without 
avail. 

The  letter  which  was  completed  late  in  the  night, 
and  started  the  following  morning  on  its  way  to  Mrs. 
Batey  Poor,  read  thus: 

11  Darling  Lydia: 

' '  I  am  afraid  that  what  I  am  going  to  ask  you  will  be 
a  great  surprise,  and  a  rather  upsetting  one.  But  I 
feel  sure  I  can  make  you  understand,  and  that  as  soon 
as  I  have  done  it  you  will  be  willing.  Here  it  is :  I 
want  you  to  send  for  me.  I  want  you  to  write  as  soon 
as  you  receive  this,  and  say  that  you  need  me  and  that 
I  must  come  at  once.  You  must  make  an  excuse,  of 
course.  I  can 't  think  of  anything  that  would  seem  im- 
portant enough  except  that  Batey  is  dangerously  ill. 
It  would  be  a  lie :  but  you  will  tell  one  for  me,  I  know, 
just  as  I  would  tell  one  if  it  were  to  help  you  and  there 
seemed  to  be  no  other  way.  And  now  I  must  explain 
why  I  want  you  to  do  this,  and  it  will  be  very  difficult 
to  make  clear ;  because,  though  it  is  so  real  and  urgent, 
it  is  not  altogether  clear.  It  comes  down  to  a  feeling 
I  have  that  I  cannot  go  on  living  in  this  house.  I  can 't 
breathe  here  any  longer.  I  want  to  get  away  as  much 
as  if  it  were  a  prison  or  a  trap.  If  I  couldn't  get 
away  from  it,  having  the  will  so  strong  to  do  so,  it 


166  MISS   [NGALIS 

\\«>iil<l  1  )  I  am  concerned,  the  same  exactly  as 

prison  or  a  trap,  wouldn't  it:  That  'a  what  some- 
thing inside  of  me  f-<K  and  wants— oh,  terribly!— to 
be  fn 

"The  reason  at  the  back  of  this  feeling  is,  I  think. 
thai  I  have  been  bo  much  hurried  in  this  last  pari  of 
my  lit'-'.  Hurried  to  the  West  Imli.-s.  hurried  into  my 
•'rr_'. ilt.  iih-ji t .  hurried  to  this  house,  ami  soon  to  be  hur- 
ried  into  marria  hurried  until  something  inside  of 
me  has  shrieked  as  it*  it  were  going  insane,  for  quiet, 
for  time  to  think,  time  I  and  know  what   I  am 

>>ut.  And  those  tilings  I  -hall  never  find  in  this 
house  ;  the  influences  ai  b1  pod 

I  '"ii  't  think.  L)  dia  <!•  this  i>  jugf  ;i  m       I 

I  that  it  will  pass,     [t  has  1     m  growing  fur  a  long 
time.     Almosl  from  the  flrsl  hour  in  this  house  I  ha 

t  oppi  at  .  hut  i  have  called  it 

something  else  ami  pushed  it  aside.     Prom  the  ti 
there  have  been  things  that  troubled  me,  but  often 
nearly  intangible  that   I  only  blamed  myself  for  not 
trusting  people  who  i  kiml  to  me.     For  th< 

have  been  awfully  kind:  1  could  n't  half  tt-11  von  the 
kindi         hat  h.         n  .shown  me,  particularly  by  Mr 
Vawter     besides,    of    course,    her   brother    Clarena 
They  shower  kindness  on  me,  in  gifts,  in  pleasun 

:-y  way.      Then,  in  spite  of  it.  |  will  come 

up  to  make  l  1  that  I  don't  understand  them,  not 

any  of  them;  t hat  they  ar         ingers-  even  Clarence 
sometimes.    Their  eyes  affeel  me  like  shuttered  win- 


MISS  INGALIS  167 

dows.  Without  seeing  into  their  minds  enough  to 
judge  of  what  they  are,  I  feel  at  those  times  that  they 
are  different  from  me,  from  us,  from  Papa  and  Mama 
— different  enough  to  give  me  the  queerest  feeling  of 
an  abysmal  gulf. 

' '  Then  all  that  will  pass,  and  it  will  seem  as  if  I  had 
dreamed  it.  But  it  comes  again  at  something  else  they 
say  or  do,  till  I  have  moments  of  not  being  sure  of 
anything  in  this  world.  Then,  there  have  been  inci- 
dents— small  things,  but  that  put  me  on  the  alert — 
showing  that  there  is  more  to  discover  behind  and 
under  what  appears,  which  I  have  the  conviction  I 
should  not  find  out  by  any  asking. 

' '  You  must  see  from  all  this  why  it  is  I  want  you  to 
send  for  me.  If  I  remain  here,  in  the  middle  of  Sep- 
tember I  shall  be  married  to  Clarence.  I  shall  have  no 
choice — that  is  all  there  is  to  it — if  I  remain  in  their 
house.  Now,  I  wish  and  hope  to  marry  him;  but  I 
want  to  have  a  choice.  I  don't  want  to  marry  him 
while  there  are  moments  when  I  feel  him  to  be  a  total 
stranger.  And  so,  at  the  thought  of  remaining  here  to 
have  my  will  overborne  by  theirs,  or  circumstances 
compel  me,  I  am  frightened.  But  I  shall  not  remain 
here,  therefore  need  not  be  frightened — because,  thank 
God,  I  have  my  sister,  and  she  will  come  to  my  aid. 
Oh,  Lydia,  how  grateful,  how  grateful  I  am  that  you 
are  there — the  one,  the  only  soul  in  the  world  I  have  to 
turn  to ! 

Now  you  will  be  quick,  darling  Lydia,  won't  you? 


i  i 


168  MISS  [NGALI9 

Foil  won't  let  anything  delay  you.     It  mayn't 

like  a  matter  of  life  ami  death — all  1  fan  Bay  LB  that  to 

iii**  at  this  moment  it  is  on       i  >h.  1  implon  you  ool 
lose  a  minute,  dear,  because  I  shall  have  to  play  a  part 
while  I  am  waiting,  and  I  am  aot  good  at  it.  besides 
hating  it  dreadfully. 

" '  With  all  the  love  in  the  world. 

••  Four  own  Q 

I  "i  that  same  day  she  went  to  the  hank  and  drew 
out  u hat  money  si  I  be  ready  to  start, 

it*  ii'  ■  night     I'       i •  rt  ways,  Imperceptible 

en  to  ahe  prepared  facilities  for  awifl  depart- 

nr        It  seemed   to  her  that  brushing  her 

must   d(  unusual   in   her  face,  her  man 

le -r  ;  hut   n<»  one  mad.-  an\  to  it. 

* 

She  !  i  out  is  Bhe  could  the  num- 

ber of  daya  and  hours  that  must  pass  l  ahe  could 

tr  from  her  -  unless  He         should  inspire  her 

to  teli  graph.  .  .  . 

she  was  not  to  be  disappointed.  Punctual  as  trains 
ami  mail  deliveries,  punctual  as  Lydia,  the  letter  earn.-. 
k  it  to  her  room  for  privacy.  Sita,  dra- 
matically   COOl    and    distant     in    lmr    manner    toward 

i  trace,  had  taken  her  p         novel  on        rs,  to  read  in 
the  shadow  of  the  elm.     With  the  tctually  in 

r  hand,  <;■        •-•It  with  greater  emphasis  the  huge 
difficulty  of  the  task  before  her  i  play  con- 

vincingly— such  a   poor  act  ifl  she   was!     But  if 


MISS  INGALIS  169 

anyone  were  told  he  must  pretend  or  be  shot,  it  seems 
likely  he  would  make  shift  to  pretend.  Since  she  ab- 
solutely must,  she  should  get  courage  and  art  from 
somewhere.  It  was  the  hour,  if  ever,  for  valor:  that 
quality  with  which  her  father  had  desired  so  strongly 
to  arm  her,  in  provision  for  the  time  when  he  should 
no  longer  be  there. 

She  tore  open  Lydia's  letter.     She  read: 


My  dear  Grace : 

I  cannot  imagine  what  you  are  thinking  about ! 
Your  letter  sounds  to  me  quite  mad !  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  Nothing  you  tell  me  gives  me  any  idea  but  that 
you  are  nervous,  overwrought,  fanciful,  and  have 
worked  yourself  into  a  panic.  I  have  been  told  by 
Batey  of  an  experience  not  uncommon  to  clergymen — 
that  the  bride  at  the  very  ceremony,  instead  of  saying 
yes,  will  say  no.  It  always  turns  out  to  be  a  case  of 
nerves :  the  overwork,  the  excitement  of  getting  ready 
to  be  married,  affects  them  that  way.  After  a  day  or 
two  the  couple — who  usually  belong  to  low  life — come 
back  to  the  parson,  the  bride  hanging  her  head  and 
heartily  ashamed  of  herself. 

"Now,  my  dear  little  sister,  I  believe  your  case  to  be 
similar.  It  can  be  read  in  every  line  of  your  letter. 
There  is  not  one  real  complaint  you  have  to  make  or 
reason  you  have  to  give.  If  I  should  fall  in  with  your 
plan,  I  should  be  acting  like  a  fool,  helping  you  to  ruin 
your  life.     Just  suppose  that  to  accommodate  you  I 


170  MISS  [NGAUS 

should  tell  thf  lie  you  prompt     what  would  happei 
Foil  would  come  to  this  out-of-the-way  place,  hundreds 
of  miles  from  Mr,  0  How   would  thai  lead 

to  knowing  him  better,  as  you  seem  to  fee]  it  q<  vy 

to  do  before  marrying  him  I  The  chances  are  that  it 
would  ••inl  the  whole  thing.  1  don M  see  him— -do  you? 
— giving  up  business  to  follow  you  oul  here  for  the 
sake  of  gradually  surmounting  your  objection 

"You   seem  determined  to  throw  awi        our  best 
chance  in  lit''',  and  I  am  ool  going  to  lei  you  do  it. 
Y.mi  are  morbid,  thai  a  the  whole  difficulty.    Think- 
ing "f  yourself  ami  your  own   feelings,  you  lose  all 
:'  proportion  and  reality.     V  mr  <>un  feelu 

•in  tn  you  qow.  as  thej  have  always  done,  the  mo 
important  thing  in  the  world.  indulge  a  whim,  you 

wish  t"  tal  '  will  laud  you  iii  thf  very  same 

position  from  which  you  were  overjoyed  to  be  taken 

;t    |Vw     montl  the    man    you    now    propose    to 

thro*  overboard,  after  all  bis  being  so  kind,  as  you 
furself  Bay,  and  Bhowering  you  with  presents  and 
pleasun 

"Do  please  take  a  momenl  to  look  back  and  remem- 
ber   how    discontented    and    down-in-the-mouth    you 
re,     1  wish  1  could  show  you  a  picture  of  yourself 
I  remember  you,  to  incline  you  to  overlook  a  few 
ilts  i"  the  one  to  whom  you  owe  your  deliveranc 
and  not  to  expect  |         rtion  from  mere  mortal  man. 
"Even  if  I  didn't  feel        tronglj  thai  as  a  matter 

of  duty   1   must   not  comply  with  your  request,  the  fart 


MISS  INGALIS  171 

is  that  I  could  n  't  do  it.  We  have  n'ta  home  to  offer 
you.  We  have  hardly  had  time  to  turn  round  yet. 
We  are  living  at  the  Foster  Poors,  as  you  know,  oc- 
cupying their  one  spare  room.  Our  things  are  still  in 
packing-boxes,  waiting  the  time  when  we  shall  have 
found  a  house  to  suit  us.  Batey  is  in  with  Foster,  and 
has  invested  the  money.  It  can't  be  pulled  up  by  the 
roots  the  very  minute  after  it  is  planted. 

1 '  You  will  thank  me  for  this,  Grace,  by  and  by,  when 
you  get  over  the  particular  fit  of  blues,  or  vapors,  or 
megrims,  or  whatever  it  is  that  is  queering  your  vision 
of  things.  You  will  see  the  matter  exactly  as  I  do,  and 
own  that  I  was  right.  In  that  certainty,  I  am  recon- 
ciled to  being  regarded  temporarily  as  a  cruel  monster. 
I  am,  nevertheless, 

' '  Your  devoted  in  the  right  sense 

"Sister  Lydia.' 

When  Grace  had  finished,  she  pressed  a  hand  to  her 
forehead,  then  to  her  throat,  in  the  futile  way  of  per- 
sons for  whose  emotions  the  event  is  literally  too  large. 
The  air  trembled  with  a  tatter  of  laughter,  accompani- 
ment to  a  remark  that  did  not  find  its  way  into  sound : 

"And  I  have  been  objecting  to  the  people  around 
me  because  of  their  moral  vulgarity ! ' ' 

But,  with  time  to  think,  Grace  got  a  better  grasp 
on  herself.  A  spark  dawned  in  her  eye,  which  grew 
to  be  hot  and  steady :  a  signal-light  with  which  Win- 
fred  Ingalis  would  not  have  been  dissatisfied. 


CHAPTER  W 

GRACE   bad   preferred  a  rammer  theater,  this 
evening,  to  a  drive;  and  after  it  had  asked 
I  e  brought  home,  instead  of  being  taken  for  an 
The  lover  fell  defrauded,  and,  with  the  aversion 
parting  for  the  eight  which  marks  the  heartily  in 
In.         axed  Grac(    to  come  with  him  to  the  dining- 
room,  wh<         .  being  famished,  would  find  himself 
bit 

The  house  was  in  darkness  but   fur  one  high-hung 

eled   lantern   in  the  hall.    Theresa   had  g        to 

iffa  Road  to  look  after  tin-  bothersome  thin        m- 

oected  with  opening  the  house,  and  had  taken  Pinky 

and  with   her;  they  r  pending  the  night. 

Tl         •  had  wry  likely  gone  to  bed,  or  the  young  men 

.<!  not  yel  come  in;  the  servants  were  no1  required 

to  sit  u]         it  was  a  aUei  weH  as  dark  house  into 

which  Clarence  let  himself  by  a  turn  of  his  latch-k< 

Through  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  entrance-hall 
they  pa  the  gallery  encircling  the  rotunda, 

llow  and  dimly  vast,  with  the  hall  light  making  only 
jn  •        ible  the  do         of  gigantic  p<  were  its 

onlighted  lamp-.     She  followed  the  curving  line  of 
bis  course  to  the  dining-room  door,  and  I  till  he 

17_' 


MISS  INGALIS  173 

had  lighted  up.  With  a  tinkle  of  clashing  prisms,  the 
room  flashed  into  brilliancy. 

Clarence  placed  a  chair  for  her. 

"Now  wait  a  moment.  I  know  how  I  can  disap- 
point the  cook :  I  '11  find  where  she  has  hidden  the  cold 
duck." 

He  came  back  grinning  with  the  look  of  a  big 
school-boy  successful  in  some  unlawful  foray,  and  car- 
rying the  platter  of  duck. 

He  found  crackers  in  the  dining-room  cupboard ;  he 
found  glasses,  and  filled  them  with  a  sweet  Tokay — 
for  her  sake,  for  he  did  not  much  like  sweet  wines. 
Then  he  seated  himself  near,  helped  her,  and  fell  to. 

"I  told  you,  Clare,  that  I  wasn't  hungry,"  she  re- 
minded him,  when  he  showed  concern  because  she  was 
not  doing  her  share. 

"To  please  me!"  he  said,  offering  a  tempting  bite 
at  the  end  of  a  fork — and  was  again  so  like  a  school- 
boy that  she  took  it.  Then  he  offered  his  glass  to  her 
lips,  to  christen.  She  shook  her  head;  but,  as  he 
pressed  it,  looking  his  self  of  their  best  hours,  she  took 
a  sip — and  thereupon  unbent  a  little,  as  it  seemed  to 
him,  whose  eyes,  while  amorous,  were  both  watchful 
and  keen. 

They  chatted  while  he  devoured  a  healthy  young 
man's  supper,  she  appearing  a  little  tired,  and  with  it, 
he  felt  as  always,  the  more  interesting.  The  shadows 
darkened  around  her  eyes  when  she  was  tired,  and  her 
tired  smile  was  doubly  enchanting.     When,  with  her 


n  »  fcfISS   [NG  \  I  -is 

elbows  on  the  table  and  her  bead  thrown  back,  Bhe 
looked  ;it  one  thoughtfully  ye1  absently  between  I 
lashes,  and  »  in  a  dr<  am  whither  ordi- 

nary man  could  doI  follow,  would  one  not  have  liked  i<» 

•isii  her  like  a  cluster  of  grapes  into  a  goblet,  thru 
drink  it  dry,  to  find  out  what  the  baffling  girl's  in- 
3,  her         nee,  was  really  lil 

There  had  been  a  silenc  tween  them  of  a  minute 
or  two,  when  Grace,  for  the  Brsl  time  that  evening, 
Bpoke  unspoken  to.  Her  voice  was  peculiarly  quiel 
and  arresting. 

'    <  ';.:! •■  .   I   want  way."  she  said. 

I !-•  I'-  ki  -I  at  h<         tfa  instants  olicitude,  hut 

took  a  moment  I  peaking  t<»  <.i  r. 

'  I   ha\  rani  3  ou   were  get!  ing  over-l  ii 

arest.     I  en  noticing  it  imu   for  .il  da; 

\V  such  huskv  fellows  in  our  family,  we  overdo 

tin-  year  round  ami  never  feel  it.     lint  you  're  difl 
ent,  it  won't  do  for  you  to  overdo.     It  'a  m\  fault;  I 
ought  t"  have  guarded  you  b  Well,  Bwe        irt, 

thi  'iily  two  w  md  a  little  over  to  wait,  a 

we  Bhall  I  It  a  nice  at  Jaffa  Road 

1  'II  see,  Gi  1  '11  like  it.     Y  mtdo 

the  whole  < l a \    long  piazzas,  hammock 

Then,  thei  tolitai  ou 

prefer,  accoi  >u  cho  -       The 

•rirls  sit  on  the  Bands  by  the  hour.     I   Lr(,t   down  at 
about  four.     I  11  take  yon  sailing  on  the  h  \d 


MISS  INGALIS  175 

— dandy  boat.     We  '11  ride  horseback,  too;  I  '11  teach 
you.     We  11—" 

Grace  interrupted  him,  speaking  in  the  same  com- 
posed and  steady  voice : 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  Jaffa  Road,  Clare." 
"Not  Jaffa  Road?'      His  tone  and  face  expressed  a 
certain    wonder.     "You    think,    do    you — ?     Where 
should  you  like  to  go,  then,  dearest  ? ' ' 

"I  want  to  go  to  Florida,  to  my  sister  Lydia." 
Clare  watched  her  in  silence,  while  trying  to  get  his 
bearings    among    new    and    unmapped    lands.     He 
brusquely  laughed. 

"No,  maid  of  many  and  curious  inventions,  find  a 
better  one !  Don 't  tell  me  you  're  homesick  for  Lydia 
— not  for  Lydia  and  Batey  !  No ! "  he  crowed.  ' '  No, 
I  insist.  I  see  what  it  is.  It  's  my  family  that  you 
can't  stand.  You  're  right.  Are  n't  they  swine?"  he 
came  out  with  comic  violence.  ' '  I  know  all  about  them, 
and  understand  why  you — O  princess  that  couldn't 
sleep  on  twenty  mattresses  over  one  pea — should  find 
them  sickening  to  live  with.  Tell  me,  have  they — 
has  any  one  done  anything  in  particular  to  you? 
Anything  spiteful  ?  Rebecca  's  the  damndest  of  them 
all !  Has  she  annoyed  you  ?  But  Alec  's  a  poisonous 
ape,  too.  Just  tell  me,  Grace,  and  I  '11  wring  their 
necks.  Now  I  've  frightened  you.  Oh,  I  'm  a  beast, 
like  the  rest.  Don't  I  know  that  you  wouldn't  make 
a  peep  of  complaint,  you  polite  angel,  if  they  put  pins 


176  MISS  INGALIS 

in  your  pillow  and  red  pepper  in  yonr  pie.    You 
not   accused   them,   but    1  'm   informed.    And   now. 

de  u!i;iT  ifi  there  we  ran  do?      It"  vmi  don't  lliink 

you  could  manage  to  stick  it  out  until  the  middle  of 
September,  all  I  can  «  it  Is  thai  we  should  bring 

the  dal  weddintr  nearer.     Whal  do  you  say 

to  that!" 

"I  don't   want   the  wedding-day  brought    Dearer. 
Just  the  other  way.  Clare— 1  want  it  put  off.'      At 
the  hmk  lit-  gave  her,  of  riowly  growing,  dismayed  e 
tonishment,  she  changed  her  ton<        one  do1  to  dry 
and  tinu:  she  trembled  with  earm  "Oh.  can'1 

.  Clare    can't  yon  feel-  thai  we  don't  know 

■li  other  well  enough  I         married  i  >n  H 

yon  realize  how  Little,  in  ;mv  true  sense,  you  know  of 
met" 

Ee  let  oul  I  reli  f      ad  1"  >ked  himself 

;in.     1 1  posture :  Leaning  his  ell 

the  table  and  his  chin  on  his  clasped  hands,  he  watched 
her  with  Bparkling  amusement. 

"Ail    1    Deed   to  know  about   you.  <»   praeiousness,  O 

good'         ifl  that  3  oted  little  prickly 

the  mOBl  mellifluous  little  perkin<_r  canary,  that    I 

ha  met.      If  I   am  ready  to  marry  you  on  that, 

what    objection    have    yon    to    mak       Bui    if    you 

imagine  that   1  don't  know  you.   ...    I  know  you.  my 
lady,  a  heap  better  than  you  think.  art- 

Lessandyon  ample  and  yon  '•        >h  ep,  so 

meek — when  you  vixen    You  have,  in  fact, 


MISS  INGALIS  177 

0  Miss !  0  modesty  !  with  all  your  refreshing  innocence 
and  delicate  air,  the  makings  of  a  most  awful  little 
flirt.  With  this  coming  on,  then  drawing  off,  this  in- 
viting, then  repulsing,  making  yourself  scarce,  mak- 
ing yourself  precious,  warm  one  minute,  cold  the  next, 
refusing  your  lips  every  single  time  and  having  to  be 
prevailed  upon  all  over  again,  full  of  more  fancies 
than  the  most  acrobatic  imagination  can  flap  after — if 
you  wanted  to  make  sure  that  your  slave  and  victim 
would  never  escape  you,  or  let  you  escape  from  him, 
you  could  n't  have  taken  a  safer  line." 

Grace  had  become  deeply  quiet  again. 

"In  every  word  you  say  you  are  proving,  you  see, 
that  what  I  said  is  true:  that  you  don't  know  me  at 
all.  If  you  did,  you  would  know  that  it  is  the  simple 
truth  that  I  want  to  go  away.  Be  serious,  Clare,  and 
listen,  and  believe  what  I  say,  no  matter  how  much  it 
astonishes  you.  I  want  to  go  away  for  the  sake — 
precisely — of  being  far  from  you — yes,  from  you. 
Whether  for  a  long  or  a  short  time,  I  can't  tell.     But 

1  want  to  be  away  from  your  domination,  your  at- 
mosphere, until  I  can  get  back  possession  of  myself; 
until — can't  you  see? — I  feel  my  soul  my  own — very 
likely  to  give  myself  over  again,  but  in  any  case  to  do 
what  I  do  from  my  own  free  will." 

"Now,  what  the —  Well,  well,  that  is  a  point  of 
view !  Something,  of  course,  has  happened  to  put  you 
in  this  frame  of  mind — sitting  there  talking  to  me  like 
a  little   book   of  metaphysics.     What  is  it,   Grace? 


178  MISS  [NG  OJS 

Bave  I  done  something  t<>  offend  yo  The  measure 
of  the  extent  to  which  1  try  nol  to,  little  one,  it  'a  not 
likely  that  yob   11  e^  The  way  l  \>-  looked  out 

for  my  language,  my  manners,  my  morals,  Bince  1  Ve 
known  you,  it  would  □  a  marble  Image  to  contem- 

plate. Now,  ju  Lmewhat  I  've  done  wrong.  rIVli 
me  \\ hat  you  want  me  to  do." 

'  ■  I  have  told  you,M  c  ime  from  I        e.    'I  want  you 
to  let  mi 

I  Ee  had  a  1    i       for  1    c     tlemn  obsl  inacy. 
\h.  do,  Psyche,  girl  with  the  lamp!     If  you  pro- 
pose to  and  think  UK"  ov(  r  in  <'<»ld 
detachment,  you  can  say  to  yours*  If  with  a  conviction 
HI.            that  it  won't  '  msented  and 

Id  the  door op<  n  for  you  to  .  .  .  What  ridiculous 

nff  all  this  is,  my  p  he  blu         I  in  despera 

tinn.  "Did  you  tell  me  there  was  insanity  in  your 
famil;  In  your  priggish  moments  you  may  wanl  to 
diss*    '  ar;l  classify  tl  timenta  that   hind  as  to 

ther;  but  if  you  have  the  astounding  hardihood  to 
in?n;         :t  tliis  tin.'  *hat  we  were  not  made 

ther,  1  I  inswer  for  you.     N 

no,  Th<-  g         •  with  which  ;         boo  an  obnoxioui 

mblebee  h      I    lo.     I  never  in  th<  old  ha 

mad»-  you  :r'  I  had  1 □  b  woolly  lamb. 

.  .  .  ■  ■  omprehensible  child."         buret  forth 

in  anew  and  poignant  voice,  "what  i        a  you  want  I 
break  my  heaii 

She  did  nol  struggle  in  his  arms,  be  were 


MISS  INGALIS  170 

too  hopelessly  strong.  She  withdrew  herself  from  the 
surface  that  his  lips  pressed,  and  offered  such  blank- 
ness  as  might  have  discouraged  one  less  fixed  of  will. 
But  him  her  deadness  incited  to  try  the  more  to  bring 
her  to  life,  to  warmth.  That  he  could  make  her  feel 
how  much  he  loved  her  better  than  he  could  tell  her 
had  been  his  pertinent  thought.  Between  the  kisses 
with  which  he  smothered  her  cheeks  and  unrespond- 
ing  lips,  he  murmured  the  fond  things  bubbling  from  a 
deeply  stirred  heart.  He  held  her  away  from  him, 
finally,  to  scan  her  little  impassive  face  for  some  hope- 
ful sign.  It  looked — pure  and  waxen — like  the  mask 
of  one  at  once  suffering  and  asleep.  Tears  hung  at 
the  edge  of  her  lashes. 

Again  he  brought  her  close,  and  kissed  her  tears. 

' 'You  don't  want  to  go  away  from  me,  do  you?"  he 
whispered,  moved  to  the  verge  of  tears  too.  :'  Are  n't 
you  as  much  mine  as  I  am  yours  ? ' ' 

She  nodded  very  faintly  and  her  lips  shaped  a 
soundless  "Yes." 


CHAPTEB  -W'l 

Gli  A<    E    '•'•  Bfl    | ■  -  .•    :'ul    tint    night    I  ita  'fl 

nee,  which  permitt        -  to  toss  at  will  i 
bed  and  weep  at  Liberty.    When,  tired  i 
.  it  was  not  to         pe  all  >geti  er  6 
Tl  •  had  pnrsned      r  lince  her  fir         ht  of  it, 

making  Itself  tl.        rting-poinl  of  confused  thr 
surmise  and  their  ided  itself 

in  her  dreams    u  ith  a 

bu1  ita  individuality  ri- 

ln  this  distorted  I 

forth  intensely  unpl<  the  fanl  m- 

of  a  perfectly  convinci  i-world,  an  1. 

while  railing  like  a  mad-?       in,  work 

that  tl         larmingly  melted  from  one  shape  inl  i 
another,   like  reflecti  ters.    Grace 

was  afraid  of  her     i  violent  ai  ••  ap- 

ared,  till  something  wl  n<  i  d 

wakeu  to  escape;  thereupon   the  dream  tr         rr   1 
her  to  a  groi         tall  pines,  where  all  I  ind  to  be 

ard  v         squirrel  angrily  i  a  branch 

on  which  he  sat  jerking  himself  a-  •■  a  pine-cone 

to  shreds. 
When  she  awoke,  the  image  of  Mrs.  Fenn  return 

180 


MISS  INGALIS  181 

at  once,  as  she  was  actually  remembered,  beautiful  as 
the  masterpiece  of  some  Greek  carver  of  Aphrodites, 
or  else  a  rose  that  could  be  imagined  self -convinced  of 
its  perfection.  Many  and  mixed  as  were  her  senti- 
ments with  regard  to  Mrs.  Fenn,  and  some  of  them 
sharply,  intuitively  inimical,  Grace  felt  no  proper 
scorn  for  the  woman's  unbraced  conduct,  lack  of  dig- 
nity and  good  taste ;  they  affected  her  like  those  of  a 
child  whom  some  misfortune,  such  as  being  too  ailing 
to  punish  or  too  pretty  to  scold,  robbed  of  indispens- 
able discipline,  so  that  it  could  never  rightly  grow  up. 
With  the  fury  of  pain  in  Mrs.  Fenn's  voice  still  pres- 
ent to  her,  Grace  felt  sorry  for  the  other  Grace,  felt 
outraged  in  her  deep  sense  of  what  should  be  by  the 
treatment  she  had  seen  her  receive. 

From  a  long,  late  sleep  she  woke  unrefreshed  and 
unnerved,  asking  herself,  in  despair  at  her  size  by 
comparison  with  the  size  of  her  problems:  "What — 
what  shall  I  do?" 

To  take  advantage  of  a  circumstance  which  might 
not  recur — that  of  Theresa  and  the  girls  being  away 
from  home — seemed  to  her,  amid  boundless  uncer- 
tainty, one  thing  obviously  to  be  done,  whether  she 
should  afterward  decide  to  leave  or  to  remain.  Un- 
bothered  by  any  person  asking  whither  she  was  going 
or  what  she  meant  to  do,  she  went  out  to  procure  a 
time-table  for  Florida  and  to  make  inquiries  concern- 
ing the  journey  to  Welaka. 

Sita  entered  the  room,   in  the  afternoon,   with   a 


IS  MISS  tNGALIS 

happy  air  of  having  enjoyed  herself;  she  humm< 
while  patting  her  hat  and  things  into  their  plac< 
She  had  do!  forgotten  thai  she  was  playing  a  comedy 
rand  indifference  toward  her  erstwhile  "crush." 
<  i  race  \  do  her  pari  then  and  there  to- 

ard  making  op.  in  the  same  room  with  one 

who  regards  herself  as  i         led   bj    you   is  burden- 
brings  of  a  constant  and 
Moreover,  to  have  a  person 
w'  i  it  was,     inconsiderate, 

->v.    marks  of  ant  ip 

thy  i  hing,  after  all,  less 

p  what  was  not  excellent 
I  yery    Dear   surprising   her 

an  apologj .  an  ap 
iL     But  flesh  and  i       I  at  the  critical  instant  re- 
1   lied.  aid  1  ..mmd  her  Deck, 

<-n  her  ha:  .    She  took  a  less  dan« 

p:  that  If  sufficiently  fn 

interest  in  the  jaunt 
■ .  in  the  endeavor  I  *  plea 

i  them,  as  if  oothing  had  happened  to 

ation  was  ai         d,  like  that  of  a  dog  at 

a  fall.  Grace   aa  sharp  a 

L(  ok  dug  cal :  -  • .    a  were  capable  of, 

Ived  not  to  b  ••  w  hat  she  aaw,  not  to  surrender 

anythii.  She  was  taking  a   good  deal 

•  part  of  the  play. 


MISS  INGALIS  183 

When  she  rose  with  the  others  from  the  dinner- 
table,  Grace,  fearing  that  to  go  at  once  to  her  room 
would  subject  her  to  questioning,  went,  for  the  first 
time  since  taking  up  her  abode  with  the  Overcomes  to 
the  piano  that  stood  in  the  crypt,  out  of  the  way  of 
the  dancers  when  there  was  dancing.  It  was  strewn 
with  Rebecca's  music,  which  she  slowly  looked  over 
and  none  of  which  she  knew.  Rebecca  was  going  for 
a  buggy  ride  with  her  beau,  as  he  was  designated  by 
the  family,  Harvey  Stokes,  even  as  Clare  had  wanted 
her,  Grace,  to  do  with  him.  She  sat  down  at  the  piano 
and  began  to  play,  as  evidently  as  possible  for  herself 
alone,  making  the  least  noise  compatible  with  playiag 
at  all. 

After  a  little  of  it,  Alec,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  came 
to  the  door  of  the  den,  a  billiard  cue  in  his  hands,  a 
pipe  between  his  teeth. 

"Oh,  it  's  you,  Grace.  I  was  wondering  who  the 
deuce — \    No,  go  on,  go  on;  I  like  it." 

Junior  came  to  the  door,  too,  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
likewise,  and  likewise  smoking.  The  brothers  neg- 
lected their  game  of  pool  to  stand  listening  for  a 
while.  Theresa  leaned  over  the  gallery  railing  to  call 
down: 

"Beautiful !  But  you  do  play  the  dolefulest  music 
I  ever  heard!" 

On  such  warm  evenings  the  men  took  their  cigars 
to  the  glass  doors  wide  open  on  to  the  green  yard. 
Red  sat  with  them  to-night,  not  so  far  from  the  piano 


184  MISS   [NGALIS 

but  thai  lit-  could  watch  the  I  f  his  incalculable 
love  who  was  not  being  nice  to  him. 

Zip  had  Bcented  something  in  the  fad  of  Grac* 
unsmiling  air  and  this  sudden  fancy  for  piano-playing, 

-  well  as  from  Uncle  Red's  respectful  distance  from 
her.     It  encou  •  start  a  romp  around  him 

like  those  of  the  old  days,  full  of  wild  laughing,  and 
poking,  and  climbing  over  hia  person,  and  whisper- 
ing in  I         r.     II-T  fun  nil       ecrel  caused  her  such 

laughter  that    part   of   it    was  spluttered    audibly. 

"The  tune  thai  made  the  old  cat  d  "ace  heard, 

and    wondered   that   even    onder   the   circumstanc 
I       •  did  Dot  resent,  for  hi        ke,  thai  joke  of  the 
impudenl    little    thii        However    unreasonably,    it 

hurt  that   he  did  imt. 

Bluish    tr  r.mt    darkness    was    < I » ■•  ■  p >« •  r i i r i *_r    <»nt- 

In    the   rotunda   the  darkness    was   -jray. 

wl.  d  glimmer  came  from  the  den.    «ira< iuld 

let  tl        in  * •  < » 1 1 1 « -  in-  i  without  danger  of  b 

ing 

At   last   Clare  drew  a  chair  close,  and   I  i  on   the 

giving  his  full  attention  to  her  shadowy 
"What  is  that  you  are  playii  he  asked,  if 

whoc        ery  inflection  was  an  entreaty  to  be 
nds  with  him  again. 

"It  i-  Schubeii  's,  and  called  'The Inn.1     It  is  really 
in-  ant  to  be  Nin  answered,  with  well  simulated 

indifference. 

'Jolly  sort  of  inn,  1  should  call  it.''    he  laughed. 


MISS  INGALIS  185 

"But  I  guess  if  you  were  to  play  'Yankee  Doodle'  it 
would  sound  soulful." 

Tired  of  the  pokiness  of  sitting  in  the  dark,  The- 
resa, without  warning  touched  a  taper  to  one  group 
of  the  pearls.  Grace's  face  stood  revealed,  bathed 
with  tears. 

Instantly  on  his  feet  and  bending  over  her  with  all 
the  magnetism  of  warmth  and  strength,  Red  begged: 
"Come  out  under  the  elm  with  me,  won't  you, 
Grace  ? ' ' 

But,  though  she  yearned  to  be  comforted,  and  com- 
forted above  all  by  him,  though  the  sadness  of  the 
whole  great  universe  seemed  poured  on  her  in  a 
drenching  rain,  she  shook  her  head  in  denial,  fearing, 
more  than  anything  she  could  imagine  of  the  flames 
of  hell,  the  torrid  Paradise  of  his  embrace. 

It  seemed  to  her  on  the  next  day  that  the  family 
must  suspect  a  lovers'  quarrel.  How  could  they  fail 
to? — when  she,  so  contrary  to  precedent,  avoided  to 
be  alone  with  Clare.  The  only  sign,  however,  from 
Theresa,  and  that  a  doubtful  one,  was  an  opportunity 
she  took  to  tell  her  what  extraordinary  luck  she  was 
in  to  get  such  a  husband.  Red,  said  Theresa,  was  a. 
fool,  he  was  so  generous  in  quarters  where  he  loved. 
Nothing  too  good  to  give,  nothing  too  much  to  do. 
And  wasn't  he  good  to  look  at?  She  only  wished 
that  Heaven  had  not  made  her  Red's  sister,  or  else 
had  made  a  few  more  men  like  him.     No  reason  why 


im;  MISS  INGALIS 

you  should  ever  have  the  smallest  difficulty  with  Bed, 
if  you  understood  him  and  used  a  little  tact 

bowed  some  degree  of  tacl  in  her  manner  of 
receiving  this  implied  advice.    She  was  do1  impelled 

let  Thi  .  into  the  secret  of  her  difficulties,  and 
listened  like  any  .-i i u;t - . •- 1  Lrirl  well  satisfied  with  the 
changi        itate  before  b 

It  was  a  long,  soul-wearing  day  to  live  through,  with 
a  heart  unremittingly  burning  amid  the  desperate 
difficulty  of  Dot  only  oot  knowing  whal  were  best  t»> 
do,  but  not  knowing  what  at  bottom  she  wished  to 
do:  a  confused  battle  going  on  between  desires,  bu 
pic  .   and   then   the  simple 

be  of  yearni]  ed  by  the  love  potion  of  which 

she  bad  drunk. 

Red  tin  to  '-r»  driving  with  him.  im  t»> 

a  theater,  (        rawalk     anything!     H<  asked  it  with 
.1  reproachful  face.     She  refused,  and  felt 

Liculous  when  b)       _' .  i  i  n .  to  give  herself  a  counte- 
nance by  doing  something,  seated  herself  at  the  piano 

play  her  mournful  melodii 

Red  turned  testily  away  from  her,  and  repaired  to 
the  den  to  play  pool  with  his  oephei        Be  could  be 

u  through  the  doorway  in  his  shirt  ,  chalk- 

i 1 1 «_r  !.  i  different  In*  was  from  the  others,  tl 

hulking  Junior,  the  esa  AJecl     The  shirt  of  fine 

lii         i\  well  on  I        thletic  shoulders;  the  flat  white 

liar  increased  the  vividness  of  his  black  head  and 
gl  b<   had  more  than  ever  an  air  of  manly 


MISS  INGALIS  187 

elegance  in  that  undress.     A  sister's  partiality  did  not 
in  every  respect  mislead  Theresa. 

He  could  be  heard  now  laughing  with  the  boys,  in 
the  boisterous  way  of  Overcomes  when  in  the  mood. 
Grace,  playing  scarcely  above  breath,  tried  with  a  tor- 
menting interest  to  hear  what  he  said.  But  so  much 
nearer  to  her  were  the  tiresome  other  men,  smoking 
their  thick  cigars  by  the  open  door.  When  she  strained 
for  Clare's  voice,  she  was  severely  tried  by  hearing 
their  droning  business  talk  instead.  Until  her  ear 
was  caught  by  a  name  occurring  in  that  conversation 
near  the  door:  "Quixy."  After  that  her  attention 
to  what  Black  and  Sim  were  saying  became  so  com- 
plete that,  forgotten,  the  hands  on  the  keyboard  were 
still. 

While  she  sat  by  a  window  next  day,  to  all  appear- 
ance reading  her  book,  and  while  Sita  in  the  same 
room  busily  did  things  to  winter  clothing  in  prepara- 
tion to  putting  it  away  from  the  moths,  Grace  was 
saying,  in  the  picture  language  of  internal  conversa- 
tions, what  may  be  rendered  as  follows: 

"If  I  am  to  get  away,  I  must  go  without  farewells 
or  discussion.  I  must  leave  the  house  as  if  on  the 
most  ordinary  errand,  and  go  instead  to  the  railway 
station  and  take  my  train.  As  soon  as  I  am  far 
enough  away,  I  will  send  back  a  letter  to  explain.  I 
shall  take  with  me  a  bundle  so  small  as  not  to  arouse 
any  suspicion.     My  things  will  have  to  stay  behind, 


188  MISS  INGALIS 

for  them  to  do  what  they  please  with.  Almost  all  my 
Latter  purchases  were  paid  for  in  pari  by  Then  sa,  who 
lias  always  wanted  me  to  have  finer  things  than  1 
wanted  to  buy;  much  <>i'  it,  therefore,  ba  really  then 

"Lydia  does  Dot  dream  of  the  thing  that   i-  pre- 
paring for  her.    She  thinks  me  bestowed,  for  g 1  ami 

all,  in  the  little  niche  that  it  was  convenient  in- 

sider as  fitting  iih'.  What  a  blow  to  her  castle  of 
dreams  when,  unannounced,  unexpected,  1  stand  in 
the  door  do  ghost,  1  > 1 1 1  solid  ami  t<>  l»c  counted  with, 
my  own  avenger,  with  steadfast,  aceu>ini  *.  The 
fancy  that  1  am  a  little  pawn  to  be  moved  about  <>n 
tli         ssboa  rve  the  ends  of  other  people  will 

iddenly  when  ah<  my  fa©      I  feel  in 

myself  an  actual  desin  f  battle-lust,  for  the 

moment  when  Bhe  learns  a  new  lesson  eoneerninp  me, 

i  aew  person  in  I        pineless  little  sister. 

si  want  He-,  hut  she  shall  have  me,         pen- 

alty for  not  having  quite  succeeded  in  selling  me  into 
slavery. 
"Poor  Lydial     After  a  while  it  will  be  all  right 

In  her  own  way.  .she  will  be  a  good  sister  to  me  again  ; 

she  l.        |  hristian  conscience,  and,  under  everything, 

•  ion  of  a  kind  for  the  baby  Bister  of  her  little  girl- 
She  ifl  Papa  and  Mama's  daughter,  after  all, 
JUSI   as   1   am. 

rhey  will  have  to  make  up  a  bed  OD  chairs  for  me 
in  the  sitting-room,  I  BUppOSe,  at  the  Foster  Poors'. 
They  can't  wry  well  turn  me  into  tie  t&     I  won't 


MISS  INGALIS  189 

ask  for  my  money  back,  but  I  can  demand  a  roof  and 
food  till  I  have  found  work.  I  shall  not  be  dainty  as 
to  what  I  am  willing  to  do.  There  must  be  children  to 
teach,  or  old  ladies  to  companion,  or  places  where 
shop-girls  are  wanted,  or  factories  where  they  need 
hands — at  the  worst,  floors  to  scrub.  Anything,  any- 
thing, will  be  more  tolerable  than  to  remain  where  I 
am." 

Having  waited  till  Sita  had  left  the  room,  she  went 
to  her  bureau  drawer  to  take  and  transfer  to  her 
pocket-book  the  money  for  her  journey,  which  she  had 
left  in  an  envelope  beneath  a  little  pile  of  handker- 
chiefs. .  .  . 

But  the  money  was  no  longer  there. 


CHAPTEB  XVll 

ON  the  third  even         ince  the  inexplicable  turn 
taken  by  his  love  affair,  Bed  0\  did  nol 

;  himself     to     further     refusals.     He 

.1  away  from  dinner  and  went  to  the  Athletic 
Club.    There  he  had  purpoc  remaiii  till  late,  but 

before  thi  waa  old  changed  his  mind  and 

irted  for  home  -to  see  how  Grace  was  taking  it.     He 
did  doI  pretend  to  und         ad  thai  trirl.     Who  could 
tell  but  her  cure  mighl  be  ai  sudden  as  her  attack  ?    A 
•making  1  •         bedtime  I    It  wei     RreU  to  l"1  on 
the  Bpot. 

Hearing  sociabl  •■  red  the  1. 

Listened  for  G  roice,  or,  through  the  voi         ad 

laughing,   the   notes  of  her  piano.     He   could   b< 
neither;  In-  spirits  dropped  flat  with  the  fear  that  he 
was  already  too  late,  that  she  had  gone  u  He 

damned  the  whole  bn 

As  900n,  h0W(  he  Si  I  from  his  room  on  to 

the  gallery,  one  of  whose  pearls  the  size  of 

moons  was  whitely  aglow,  he  saw  her,  and  was  con- 
vinced in  tJ  insl  ant  tl.  I      e  had  Been  him. 

A  dozen  young  people  sat  distributed  in  groups  over 
the  stair-:  a  in  or  two  from  outside  were  among 
them,  beside  Harvey,  G  6anc6,  and  a  friend 

190 


MISS  INGALIS  191 

of  Harvey's  whom  Red  knew  only  by  sight.     The  lat- 
ter, seated  near  Grace,  was  making  himself  agreeable. 

A  string  of  "good  evenings"  and  "hellos"  greeted 
Red  as  he  came  to  stand  above  the  assemblage  and 
look  down  over  them  with  his  smile  of  a  fine  fellow. 
Grace  rose  at  once,  as  if  she  had  only  been  waiting 
for  him.  In  the  manner  of  one  who  expects  to  be  fol- 
lowed, she  drew  a  few  steps  apart. 

"May  I  speak  with  you  a  moment?'  she  asked, 
when  he  had  joined  her. 

Strolling  slowly,  they  took  themselves,  with  the 
recognized  right  of  lovers,  outside  the  line  of  curious 
and  profane  glances.  Glances  curious  and  profane 
nearly  as  many  as  there  were  eyes  played  over  their 
backs  as  they  went.  Theresa,  who  at  the  sounds  hail- 
ing Red's  arrival  had  come  to  the  door  of  the  drawing- 
room,  followed  the  pair  with  a  look  of  relief  and 
hope. 

With  strict  good  taste,  Red  had  never,  when  Grace 
entered  the  parlor  that  admitted  of  transfiguration 
into  his  sleeping  apartment,  closed  the  door.  He  left 
it  open,  as  usual ;  they  could  not  be  watched  or  over- 
heard anyhow,  unless  by  someone  coming  frankly  to 
the  door. 

At  the  weary  finality  of  the  gesture  with  which  his 
sweetheart  disposed  of  his  affectionate  attempt,  Red 
had  a  laugh.  Instead  of  appropriate  dejection,  a  look 
of  wicked  fun  came  into  his  eyes.  Without  insisting 
on  the  toll  of  a  kiss,  he  ceremoniously  placed  a  chair 


1W  MISS   [NGALIS 

c  her,  and  made  it  more  comfortable  by  a  cushion. 
"  I  )u  you  mind  if  I  Bmok<     '  be  asked. 

I  -ace  took  the  edge  of  h<        it ;  be  leaned  back  at 

in  his.  and  gave  her  all  the  time  ahe  wanted  to 
come  to  tlir  point 

"1  hate  to  tell  you  what  I  have  to  tell — "  she  ap- 
proached it. 

II  What  'a    coming    no  Bui       i    ahead  I     I  'm 
braced  for  anything  I " 

"You  are  mistaken,  Clai       It  baa  nothing  to  do 
with —     I  v.,i!  •  tn  promise  not  to  tell  any- 

ly  or  make  ;i  fuss  about  it." 

"Whi 

"You  won't  makes  fuss  aboul  it.  will  vouT     I  c 
so  particularly.     My  fi  impr  upon  i. 

a  child,  bo  that  I  never  can  fi  *  that  the 

moment  something  is  mis         suspicion  falls  on  tl 

.  poor  thin.  [1   'a  BUCh  an  unfair  position  to 

be  in.  where,  no  i         p  bow  honesl  you  are.  the  mo- 
ment anything  is  missing  you  feel  yourself  regard" 
Bible  thief.'1 

"  \nw  \,-  missed  something 

"1  had  nearlj   a  hundred  dollars  in  an  envelo] 
Clare,  in  the  top  drawer  of  my  bureau.     I  am  certain 
it  was  ther       sterday.  because  I  counted  it  over.     To- 
day  1  looked  for  it.  and  it  is  gone." 

"You  Ve looked  carefully,  [suppose?" 

"Bverywl  Absolutely.    Over  and  over.    Would 

1  speak  of  it  without  being  Buret" 


MISS  INGALIS  193 

"Hm.  Queer.  Very  well;  I  won't  make  a  fuss, 
but  I  '11  do  what  I  can  to  find  out  who  's  got  it." 

"It  's  sure  to  have»been  someone  from  outside,  some- 
one who  slipped  in,  perhaps,  while  we  were  all  at  din- 


ner. ' ' 


"Leave  it  to  me." 

Clare  smoked  reflectively.  Grace  watched  him  in  a 
questioning,  expectant  silence. 

"The  trouble  is,"  she  got  out  with  difficulty,  "that 
it  leaves  me  almost  literally  without  money.' 

She  was  looking  downward  as  she  said  this,  in  em- 
barrassment. When  she  stole  a  glance  at  him  to  see 
why  he  did  not  speak,  she  found  him  grinning.  The 
deviltry  in  his  eyes  required  her  to  view  and  take  ac- 
count of  it. 

"Providence,"  he  began  in  the  characteristic  man- 
ner of  his  lighter  vein — "Providence,  O  lilies  and  lan- 
guors, has  come  to  my  aid!" 

At  the  challenge,  Grace  leaped  into  the  saddle,  to 
joust  with  the  same  sort  of  lance.  A  belligerent 
gleam  was  in  her  eye. 

"Providence,  0  roses  and  raptures,  has  let  you  in 
for  ninety-seven  dollars,  which  you  will  please  pay  to 
me.     I  shall  be  astonished  if  I  am  kept  waiting." 

"Astonishment  is  good  for  you,  0  airy  fairy!"  He 
settled  back  in  his  chair,  looking  supremely  debonair. 
"Listen.  I  will  return  the  ninety-seven  dollars  stolen 
from  you  in  my  house,  of  course.  But  I  must  be  al- 
lowed to  pay  as  I  can,  by  instalments — say,  five  dollars 


194  -MISS    1M.AI.IS 

.1  week,  which  will  keep  you  in  i"  •  tamps.  That 
will  bring  us  to  -N't   m<  -long  past   the  second 

week  in  September,  after  which  what  'a  mine  ia  youi 
and  all  your  little  l»iiu    0  summit  of  felicity  1     [deal 
attained  !     Bow  'a  that,  1 1  r  come  in  to  me.n 

"\  •   jo  i  ist!     Am  I  to  understand  thai   I  might 
have  to  ask  twice — tu    ■ .  '  I  imitatioii  of  a  prince— for 
palt  ry  sum  of  ninety  sei  en  dollars 
"<>    ivorj     statuette,    coolness    personified!    Some 
w,i\  -  oi  asking  are  moi  than  othei 

"And  some  dii        ries  are  more  painful.  <>  plaster 
copy  of  A  polio  ' 

3ay  n<.  more.    Thai  laal  knock  does  it.     Apollo 
■." 

\i    :      '  tpped    1)       :       k(  '       p  nr   by    pair,   hi;  -at. 

.  prior  to  turning  them  inside  oul  on  to  the  table 
II"  counted  the  green  and  yellow  paper,  the  l<     i    lil 

r,  the  gold  lucky  piece  tossed  down  with  the  rest. 

■  I  ry     i-  tboul  half.     Fifty-two  do! 

Lars  and  eighty-five  cents,     I    11  ha  ■  si  for  yon 

morrow.    There  you  are,  Little      rewl  Little  touch 
me-nol 

With  an  effect  of  ahame  in  spi  rything, 

Grace's  hand  moved  toward  the  money.  As  it  hung 
like  a  bird  aboul  to  alight,  Red's  hand  closed  upon 
it. 

'•dust  a  moment.    Jusl  one  thi:  g      Promise,  Grace, 
that  you  won't  u>«-  this  money  against  me.n 

u  Against  you?     What  do  you  meant'1 


MISS  INGALIS  195 

An  equal  seriousness  was  suddenly  in  both  their 
faces. 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  Promise  that  you  won't 
use  it  to  go  away  from  me." 

Grace's  hand  turned  limp  within  his,  and  like  a 
hawk  with  its  capture  the  two  dropped  together. 

1 '  Promise. ' ' 

" Clare,"  she  said,  after  a  little  while  given  to 
anxious  meditation,  "have  you  ever  read  a  play  called 
'The  Lady  of  the  Sea,'  by  Ibsen?" 

"Ibsen?     No,  nry  pretty,  not  I." 

"I  wish  you  had,  because  it  is  the  illustration  of  a 
thing  that  I  shall  have  trouble  to  make  you  see. 
There  is  a  woman  in  it  who  wants  to  leave  the  man 
she  's  married  to.  It  is  a  morbid  obsession  in  her 
case — a  longing  to  return  to  the  sea.  You  feel  that 
nothing  could  have  kept  her  from  it,  except  the  one 
thing  her  husband  finds  to  do,- which  is  to  release  her. 
When  she  is  free  to  go,  the  obsession  ceases,  and  she 
finds  it  possible  to  stay.  You  had  much  better  let  me 
go  to  Lydia,  if  I  want  to." 

"Had  I?  If  I  do,  will  you  promise  to  come  back? 
.  .  .  You  see?  You  won't  promise.  Then  how  can 
you  expect  me  to  let  you  go  ?  You  don 't  seem  to  un- 
derstand, little  one,  that  it  's  a  thing  I  care  about.' 

Grace  pulled  at  her  hand ;  he  relinquished  it.  With 
both  hands,  systematically,  but  as  if  thinking  the 
while  of  other  things,  he  rounded  the  money  into  a 
neater  pile,  and  turned  a  brass  bowl  over  it. 


i:k;  MISS  im.ai.is 

imething  in  his  action,  in  the  hatefulness  of  feeli] 
her  dependence  upon  him  for  disgusting  money,  Btung 
her  to  Bharp  anger.     Upon  the  impulse  to  hurl  back, 

she  .slippfil  his  rinirs  from  her  linger,  ami  laid  them  on 

the  tab! 

"  Fou  can  pur  these  \\  ith  it." 

si).-  ha<l  given  him  the  desired  shock,  unmistakably. 

"  W\  si  do  you  mean  by  tha 

Bui  she  was  already  frightened  by  what  she  li.nl 
done. 

"Because    l suae  -if        money  in  my  bureau  is 

not  safe,  these  rings  may  ool  be  safe  eitl  n  my 
band/1  Bhe  explained  lamely.  "They  have  grown 
la  i  thief  of  enterprise  could  Lr»-t  them  without 
difficult! 

The  eyes  t r\  iult  to  read  her  were  those  unreadable 
thai  made  him  aeem  lik»-  angler,  She  could 
do1  bear  to  meet  them,  but  looked  oil  among  th<-  sworda 
and  musketB  on  the  wall,  <lim  in  the  greenish  dusk  out- 
side the  ring  of  lamplight. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,1  he  said,  In  conclusion  to 
his  reflections,      md  I  had  better  taki  of  them 

for  you.n     He  placed  the  rings  in  his  vest  pocket. 

1  [er  unsuc  I  to  her  ended.     I  ri 

humiliation  she  was  rising  to  go,  when  he  asked 
sharply : 

"Thai  was  ool  s  symbol,  was  it.  Grace, — handing 
me  back  my  en  ment  ring,— by  which  you  wished 
me  to  und<         id  that  you  are  throwing  me  ov< 


MISS  INGALIS  197 

His  voice  left  no  doubt  of  the  origin  or  sincerity 
of  his  alarm.  Corresponding  depths  were  stirred  in 
her  by  its  vibration.  She  was  brought  face  to  face, 
like  him,  with  a  possibility  as  dreadful  as  an  amputa- 
tion. 

1  *  Unimaginable — oh,  unimaginable,  Clare,  that  it 
should  come  to  that!"  she  moaned,  and  covered  her 
eyes  pathetically  to  shut  out  the  vision  of  ultimate 
calamity. 

' '  There  spoke  my  own ! ' '  He  was  all  comfort  and 
fondness  at  once;  but  in  the  next  moment,  through 
the  rebound  of  his  spirits,  he  overran  again  with  his 
peculiar  fun.  "But  you  are  the  most  unexpected 
little  prize-package,  you  know !  Nothing  I  've  learned 
from  others  helps  me  to  guess  right  with  you.  There 
you  sit,  gentle  and  sweet,  incapable,  anyone  would 
suppose,  of  hurting  a  fly.  What  makes  you  want  to 
stick  spikes  in  your  gorilla?  What  makes  you  vivi- 
sect your  curly  dog?  You  needn't  talk  to  me  about 
that  Sea-lady  and  her  mysterious  mentality.  You  've 
got  something  definite  against  me  at  the  back  of  your 
mind  which  you  have  n't  the  fairness  to  come  out  with. 
How  can  I  let  you  go,  Grace," — his  voice  was  plain- 
tive,— "and  take  my  chances  of  the  thing  working  out 
right  hundreds  of  miles  away?  I  'm  not  that  kind  of 
man — you  ought  to  know  it. 

"Do  you  know  what  all  this  looks  like,  little  girl? 
what  the  only  explanation  is  that  would  really  seem 
to  explain?     That  you  've  grown  sick  of  me,  so  soon. 


198  Mis-  [NGALIS 

Bui  to  think  that   would  seem  to  me  equal  to  the 

•  Insult  I  could  t'ran:       1  won't  lei  myself.     I 

■■k.  i:         I,  to  thinking  of  the  beautiful  past — so 

•rut.  t<>..         ben  you  used  to  talk  about  your  great 

b   of  making  me  happy     and    1    ]aiiLrh   a   hollow 

laugh.    Grace,  I  've  got  to  Laugh;  1  've  'jot  t<>  treat 

tliis  thing  like  a  spell  of  weather  that  will  pass;  for  it' 

1    don't     I    shall    he    t:  And    if    1    'in    tragic,    it'    1 

begin  t<>  tell  you  how  you  Ve  mad.-  me  feel,  1  shall 
ridiculo         I  laugh,  ><>  ;i>  oot  t->  do  worse.     And  the 
ll  came  wheu  I  thought  I  was  .h>inLr  so  well!     I  'd 
cu1  "ii!  :  went  around  like  a  blankety 

school  edition.     Did  yon  ever  bear  mi   sigh  one  small 
hid  you  ever  .  whiff  ou  my  breath  of  any- 

thing you  should  i  l    (hewed  perfumes  1  bought 

of  .t  French  barber,  if  there  was  anj  hope  of  a  kiss. 
Pat  at-leather    Bh  Manicui        Pii  e  dollar    t  i< 

Dtl  r  fnlii'         N<  ver  a  s,j  ,  tight,  a 

long, 
in,  with  regard  t<»  matters  mental  and  moral: 
in  our (  »nal  arguments,  didn't  1  all         knuckle 

under  l  superior  wisdoi         When  you  even  at- 

tacked  my   \  >f  doing  business,  didn't    1    yield  1 

.  cheap  luxury,  either,  your  Little  conscience — ' 
<  Har        I  can 't  lei  you  beliei  e  thai  1  beli< 
illy  did  what  you  said  you  would  do  that  ti: 
about   the   ( !hi  building      V  >u   de<         I    me ;    I 

know  it  perfectly 
Clan   s  widened,  thru  narrowed,  and  he  gave 


MISS  INGALIS  199 

the  prolonged  exclamation  of  one  finding  the  key  to 
a  riddle. 

"  Oh !  Now  I  see !  That  would  account  for  much ! 
But  what,  my  dearest,  makes  you  think  I  deceived 
you?" 

' '  I  heard  Mr.  Vawter  and  your  brother  Black  talk- 
ing the  thing  over  while  they  smoked  their  cigars  in 
the  doorway.  They  mentioned  Mr.  Quixy's  part  in 
the  transaction  that  he  had  just  brought  to  a  satisfac- 
tory termination.  They  mentioned  the  bargain  price 
paid." 

"I  see.  And  you  made  up  your  mind,  without  fur- 
ther investigation,  that  I  was  a  liar.  Have  you  any 
idea,  my  gentle  love,  how  such  a  line  of  conduct  as 
you  laid  out  for  me  would  strike  three  seasoned  busi- 
ness men  who  do  not  happen  to  be  in  love  with  you? 
We  are  partners,  you  remember,  Black,  Lonzo,  Sim, 
and  I.  Just  try,  by  the  help  of  an  excellent  imagina- 
tion, to  figure  it  out.  That  loss  of  twelve  thousand 
five  hundred  dollars  was,  and  had  to  be,  my  personal 
loss — and  strictly  private,  let  me  add.  I  shouldn't 
care  to  be  laughed  at  as  Overcome  Brothers — the  rest 
of  them — would  laugh  at  me  if  they  came  to  hear  of 
my  tomfoolishness.  Quixy  is  in  my  confidence,  no  one 
else.  So  you  see  where  your  general  bad  opinion  of 
me  leads  you." 

' 'Clare,  are  you  willing  to  give  me  your  word  of 
honor  that  what  you  have  just  told  me  is  true?" 

4 'Will  you  believe  me  upon  my  word?" 


200  MISS   [NGAUS 

'•1  >li,i!l  be  forced  to." 

"Very  well,  then.  .  .  ." 

By  an  instinctive  gesture  ah        pped  him. 

"No,  Clare!     Don't  Bwear  it :" 

The  word*  I   her  lips  than  she 

cringed  with  terror  at  the  enormity  of  the  implication. 

But  Clare  had  fixed  his  heart  upon  a  particular  cul- 
mination of  the  evening.     After  three  days  of  fastii 

iwerful  was  the  ache  of  hunger  to  catch  her  in 
his  arms  that,  instead  of  uncorking  vials  of  wrath,  he 
laugh i  d  a  hi'-r  laugh. 

"Thai  was  b  i  do,  0  fond  doi  i  '     Now  you  're 

going  to  >ay  you  're  aorry. 

A:  his  Lifting  himself  out  of  his-  deep  chair,  ahe 
alertly  got  behind  hers,  where  ahe  stood  watching  him 
like  a  bird  or  a  deer. 

"1    i  're  going  t  rry,"    he  repeated, 

and   advanced   with   deliberation.    She   bent   out  of 

tch  with  a  balf-suppr  im  of  nervous  laugh- 

ter, Buch  as  t !  e  invariably  elicita 

from  young  girls.     After  whirling  successfully  around 
the  chair.  Bhe  made  for  the  door,  Clare  after  her. 

At  !■         ln.l  of  their  all  fa  turned  to 

Watch   this  merry  Q  of  loV(  r  '  _r. 

"Go  it,  Gr  \  lee  from  the  pit.    Junior 

shouted  after  him. 

she  had  nearly  the  entire  circle  of  the  gallery  to 

run    befon  lUld    reach    the    hall    door,    the    liall- 

way,  the  Staircase,  and.  if  victorious,  the  safety  of  her 


MISS  INGALIS  201 

room.  Seeing  the  space  before  the  dining-room  nar- 
rowed by  the  loungers  on  the  stairs,  she  got  out 
through  her  panting  laughter,  in  an.  acute  cry: 
" Fair  play!" 

Rebecca,  after  a  second  wasted  in  lightning  debate 
as  to  which  of  the  two  it  would  be  sweeter  to  spite, 
Grace  or  her  uncle,  sprang  to  sweep  the  space  clear. 
Grace  flew  by.  But  Clare,  two  yards  behind,  came  to 
momentary  grief  over  a  silk  cushion  deftly  pushed  be- 
fore his  foot — just  enough  to  give  the  race  to  the 
fleet-foot  nymph. 


I  BAPTER  Will 

THERESA  came  to  Grace  with  an  air  of  secrecy 
and  chagrin : 
'My  dear  child,  Red  baa  told  me  o!  your 
misfortum      I  don't  know  what  to  say.     I  was  never 
mortified  in  my  lift*.    Such  a  Bum,  to       EIow  did 
you  come  to  ha         i  much  money  on   handl     You 
know  it  \  never  wis<      V?  to  be  careful  doI  to 

put  temptation  in  the  i  servants     Oh,  yes;  B 

told  me  that  nothing  whatever  waa  to  tx         I    ibout 
it.  BO  that   n  »£  their  feelings  might  )»<•  hurt,  and 

1   .         ;.     0]  I  ri 't  think  their  feelings  are 

i\u\  its,  my  child.     However,  I  think  it 

d  plan,  in  this         .  to  keep  still.  to  put 

tli       i  T  their  guard,  whoever  La  the  thief.     I   will 
manage  to  1         their  quietly       irched.     1 1  - 

denomination   of  the  bills       T  >- 

the  cool        fternoon  out,  which  will  simplify 

the  matti  r  of  hers.    Sam  has  a  room  in  the  basement, 

and  he  'a  at  the  stable  a  lot  of  the  time,  bo  that  will  be 

Then  Ellen  will  be  taking  the  eook'a  place,  and 

1  '11  jiin  down  Kate  to  some  piece  of  work  in  the  laun- 

dry.    Then  there  'a  Nora — " 

"No,   no,   not   Nora!     I    wouldn't   for  the   whole 

202 


MISS  INGALIS  203 

world  that  Nora's  room  should  be  searched!"  cried 
Grace,  in  pain. 

"We  may  find  the  money  before  we  get  round  to 
hers.  But,  of  course,  we  mayn't  find  it  at  all. 
They  may  have  taken  it  outside  the  house ;  or  it  may 
be — it  most  likely  is — someone  from  outside  who  stole 
it.  It  would  n  't  be  difficult ;  we  're  all  so  careless 
about  catching  the  glass  doors.  Grace,  my  dear,  in 
view  of  this  theft  and  the  lesson  it  is,  had  n't  you  bet- 
ter let  me  have  your  pearl  necklace  to  keep  for  you? 
I  will  put  it  in  the  safe.  Not  one  of  these  old  bureaus 
has  a  key  that  locks.  Have  n't  you  any  other  jewelry 
you  'd  like  me  to  take  care  of  for  you  ? ' ' 

"I  have  nothing  of  any  value.  My  mother's 
things  Lydia  took  with  her — all  but  her  wedding 
ring." 

"That  's  all  right,  then.  Red  has  commissioned  me 
to  be  your  banker  up  to  any  figure  you  choose  to  men- 
tion. But  my  suggestion  is  that  you  keep  very  little 
money  on  hand,  and  ask  me  as  often  as  you  need 
more.  Wait  a  minute :  here  are  two  twos  for  you,  and 
a  one." 

When  Grace  passed  Nora  with  her  tray  that  day, 
she  slipped  by  without  a  word.  She  could  not  bear 
to  meet  the  small  pretty  eyes  of  Irish  blue  with  black 
lashes.  They  were  acquainted  now,  she  and  Nora,  be- 
cause she  often  spent  an  hour  at  Aunt  Marinda's,  and 
Nora  would  be  in  and  out,  waiting  on  the  old  lady. 


*04  MISS  tNG  \i.l> 

When  Grace  read  aloud  from  the  Book  of  Psalm 
Mora  would  stay  and  listen  with  a  grave  and  recol- 
lected air.  Grace  preferred  to  think  Theresa  moved 
by  prejudice  when  she  disqualified  Nora  tor  an  on- 
mingled  r<  '  .in.l  tni>t  by  relating  that  she  brought 
home  from  her  far-spaced  "afternoons  out"  an  un- 
natural cheerfulness  along  with  a  breath  that  roused 
misgivings.  The  honest,  motherly,  so  human  Nor 
And  now  her  room  was  to  be  searched.  Bui  bow 
could  this  be  done  without  her  knowing  it.  when  her 
in  wa  bt  nexl  to  Hiss  Marinda'c  She  would 
difl  would  ask  what  the  impertinenl   rum 

maging  meant;  she  would  be  told  that   Miss  [ngalis 
ha«l  missed  moi         tnd  would  believe  thai   Miss  In 

having  stolen  it. 

for  the   misery  of  thf 
imagined  Bcene.    She  wrung  ber  impotent  bands,  and 

yielding  to  tl  cry,  when     what  did  it 

— a  thread  -  sp  thai  bad  held  a  blind  In 

place  :  whereupon   -illumination  I 

She  need  no1  Buffer  this  torture  of  shame.    Nor 
n  would  do1  be       rched.     Nobody's  room  would 
li«-         rched.    in    reality.     Nobody    had    stolen    the 
money.    TL        .  knew  all  tin-  while  where  the  money 

.-.  havimr  subtracted  it  herself,  or  hail  it  subtracted. 
\d  wh;        Because  Red  had  told  her  to.     And  again 
wh         Because  he  wished  to  make  sure  that  Grace 
could  doI       away. 

A  degree  of  excitement  pertained  to  this  conviction 


MISS  INGALIS  205 

that  robbed  it  of  pain  and  fear.  The  instinctive  re- 
ply was  defiance.  Grace  rejoiced  that  she  had  al- 
ready, early  that  morning,  as  a  result  of  the  night's 
counseling,  taken  the  next  step  on  her  side  of  this  in.- 
credible  game.  She  could  wait  with  confidence,  and 
be  amused  with  watching  machinations  doomed  to 
failure. 

Grace  had  no  name — she  did  not  practise  at  twenty- 
two  the  self-analysis  rendering  a  name  necessary — for 
the  quality  that  would  have  made  death  rashly  prefer- 
able to  having  her  will  bent  by  that  of  Clarence  Over- 
come, or  any  other  belonging  to  the  sex  boastfully 
called  the  stronger — her  dear  father  always  excepted. 
In  the  person  of  Clarence  Overcome,  above  all,  the 
arrogance  of  man  must  not  conquer. 

With  her  battle  mood  cooling,  she  began  not  to  feel 
so  sure  of  a  thing  for  believing  which  she  had  no 
ground  but  a  flash  of  intuition.  She  brought  reason 
to  bear  upon  that  strong,  ungrounded  opinion.  It 
must  have  been  Red's  glibness  in  explaining  the  Quixy 
episode  which  had  created  the  detestable  suspicion 
that  he  lied.  Theresa,  in  talking  of  the  lost  money, 
had  shown  the  same  glibness :  she  had  reminded  Grace 
ever  so  much  of  Red.  Paradoxically,  the  two  of 
them  overdid  naturalness. 

When  she  was  entirely  calm,  Grace  refused  to  har- 
bor such  dishonoring  and  unjustifiable  thoughts. 

The  difficulty  was  that,  having  once  seen  the  thing 
in  that  way,  she  could  see  it  in  no  other. 


06  MISS  [NGALIS 

An  hoar  or  two  later,  Sita  Burprised  her  by  reveal- 
ing a  disposition  to  make  up.  The  i  f  apology  be- 
i 1 1 «_r  at  best  full  of  awkwardness,  Grace  was  eager  to 
ease  it — but  found  this  solicitude  of  hen  uncalled 
for.  Sita 'a  embarrassment  took  the  mask  of  an  ex- 
trem<  ■■/.     Between  thai  and  Grace's  ideal 

of  charity,  in  a  few  minutes  the  faults  of  the  past 
wiped  out  and  all  was  restored  to  the  happy 
point  of  friendship  |         ling  the  break.    There  was 
laughing,  there  w< 

<  Had  an  "d..r  of  flow(        •  •  r  vulgar  and 

defiling  fum<     I  - ed  aft  d  hit  of  it 

to  l"'  free  from  -  v.    To  manage  an  escape 

•fully,  she  put  on  her  thin         Lr<»  «>ut  for  a  walk. 
May  I  con  asked  Sita,  with  the  thought- 

l<  58  pr<  cipitancj       .  irlhood. 

A  marked  pause  followed 

1  ■  I    am   afraid "    I  Irace   hi  ' it    won 't    be 

much  fun  :         iu,     I  ahall  w  I        it  to  talk.     I  want 

to  think. 

'•I  shall  Like  it  all  the  betl  Sita  er- 

ntly.    "Because  it  will  be  treating  me  like  a  n 

</.     Ton  '11  see  how  still  1  ''an  kei  p.     All  ]  care 

about     •        -/  to  I 


None  of  the  family  made  any  remark  to  Grace  con- 

rning   a    situation    that    could    not    pass    unnoticed. 

The  Lovers1  quarrel  was  ool  counted  as  making  any 


MISS  INGALIS  207 

essential  or  final  difference,  it  seemed;  preparations 
for  the  marriage  were  sturdily  pushed  on.  Grace 
found  it  easiest  to  play  the  same  comedy  as  the  rest : 
passivity  on  her  part  amounting  to  that.  It  was  not 
in  the  nature  of  things  that  she  should  expose  herself 
to  the  dreadfulness  of  telling  these  people  the  truth 
about  the  quarrel.  If  she  had  refused  Theresa's  in- 
vitation to  come  and  help  in  choosing  the  silver  that 
was  to  be  the  wedding  present  of  the  united  Vawters, 
it  would  all  have  had  to  come  out:  what  she  thought 
of  Red,  what  she  thought  of  the  rest.  Better — oh, 
infinitely  better  for  everybody — that  the  silver  be 
bought,  and  even  marked.  In  permitting  this  to  be 
done,  Grace  was  not  saying  to  herself  that  the  great 
shining  store  would  never  be  hers.  She  had  not  said 
to  herself  that  she  should  never  marry  Clarence  Over- 
come. Among  uncertain  and  battling  thoughts,  one 
of  the  steadiest  still  was  a  faith  that  sometime,  some- 
how, after  bog-holes  waded  and  tangles  of  forest 
passed,  after  repentance  and  regeneration,  a  way 
would  lead  back  to  the  light,  and  all  be  according  to 
heart's  desire. 

But  first  she  must  go  from  that  house.  One  thing 
at  a  time.  Her  immediate  and  absolute  demand  was 
for  release  from  that  smothering  house. 

So  she  bestowed  a  languid  attention  upon  the  ques- 
tion of  the  silver.  That  so  much — so  much  silver 
could  be  meant  for  a  single  wedding  gift,  a  single 


208  MISS  [NGAUS 

happj  ooupli  ed  belief.  Theresa  went  on  and  on 
buying;  went  on— perhaps  a  Little  ostentatiously — 
buying 

Had  Theresa  any  idea,  at  the  bach  of  those  hand- 
some black  eyes,  thai  Bhe  was  buying  her— Grace  1 
This  thought  sprang  into  tin-  girl's  mind  at  a  gesture 
of  Theresa's  as  she  held  up  a  filigree  basket  of  rarely 

quisite  workmanship  to  make  Its  frosty  silverine 
Bparkle  in  the  light. 

That  Theresa  was  doing  what  she  could  to  win  her, 
if  not  to  )»ny  her,  was  manifesl  in  the  reinforcement 
of  her  jolly  friendliness,     Verily  a  precious  Bister  in- 

lav  mimI  t<»  none  in  power  among  a  family  which  it 

»d  and  profitable  to  join.  The  attractn 
suits  of  doing  well  for  herself  in  marriage,  Th<  n  sa 
enlarged  upon  to  Grace  with  not  very  delicate  art, 
when  the  two  had  gone  to  tin*  new  house  to  g 
whether  a  rugsent  on  approval  toned  in  with  tie-  wall- 
paper. Ber  crude  handling  of  the  Bubjed  gave,  in- 
deed, <»ne  example  more  of  that  careli  through 
which  older  people  sometimes  und<                the  brains 

younger. 

The  matter  of  the  rug  having  1 n  discussed,  sic 

drew  Grace  down  to  the  sofa  where  Clare  had  once  Bat 
with  her  when  the  room  was  Mm-  instead  of  yellow, 
as  now.     Though  Ther  movement  appeared 

ual,  Grace,  because  her  spirit  was  on  tic  alert,  felt  it  to 
be  calculated. 

"It  'a  a  beautiful  room,1    Ther        Bid,  after  going 


MISS  INGALIS  209 

over  it  with  her  eyes — the  many  mirrors,  the  rose  gar- 
lands, the  crystal  sconces.  Grace  thought  so,  too.  As 
she  now  looked  at  it,  with  knowledge  of  the  fantastic 
sums  it  represented,  she  remembered  her  old  original 
feeling  about  the  house — that  it  was  folly  to  suppose 
it  would  ever  really  be  hers. 

"A  beautiful  room,"  Theresa  repeated.  "Bed  tells 
me  he  is  going  to  have  a  baby  grand  piano  for  this 
room,  built  on  purpose  for  you.  Dear  me !  perhaps 
it  was  meant  for  a  surprise !  Well,  if  so,  I  've  done 
it,  and  may  as  well  go  on.  A  gold  piano, — gilt,  that  is 
to  say, — with  hand  paintings  of  loves  and  flowers. 
Have  you  ever  seen  the  kind  I  mean  ?  It  's  a  French 
idea,  I  guess.  This  is  to  be  your  own  especial  parlor, 
so  it  will  be  nice  to  have  a  piano  in  it  for  your  very 
own,  besides  the  big  rosewood  one  downstairs.  If  you 
want  any  books  in  this  room, — as  you  are  sure  to, 
you  studious  little  thing, — you  must  have  them  spe- 
cially bound ;  a  promiscuous  lot  of  books  would  n't  do. 
Pale  brown  leather  with  gold  trimmings  would  be  the 
right  thing,  I  should  say.  You  know,  Red  will  let  you 
have  just  what  you  want.  He  '11  spoil  you  to  heart's 
content.  You  are  one  person  who  can  get  anything 
she  pleases  out  of  Red,  or  make  Red  do  anything.  It 
comes  near  being  pathetic,  the  way  that  boy  worships 
you.     A  lucky  girl,  I  call  you. 

"This  is  a  beautiful  house,  Grace.  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  n  't  be  as  happy  in  it  as  the  day  is  long. 
It  's  rather  different  from  the  way  I  began  my  mar- 


110  HISS  [NGALIS 

ried  life,  let  me  tell  you.     I  fancy  il      i  ither  diffi 
nit.  too,  from  the  way  yon  Vc  been  accustomed.    But, 
oi  eourse,  a  bouse  is  only  a  house,  a  background.    The 

lift-  in  it  is  more  important  than  the  house.  Ami  I 
don';         why  yon  can'1  make  your  life  a-  brilliant 

B8  you  '"  Red  1-  .1  genius  ;it  busi  Tin-  linn 

ua  making  money,  bul  Red,  with  his  Instinct 

for  investments,  is  coining  it  on  his  own  hook.  Ele 
will  be  richer  and  richer.  V  m  will  be  able  to  do  what 
you    pl<  5fou   can   entertain    on   such   ;i   scale] 

Fou  can  gather  around  you  d\  th<  you  want 
I  dart  you  would  like  brainier  people  than  our  Bel 
— let  in'  »le  brainy  i:.  .1  different  way. 

I  •  •    .  u  kn        to  <i"  business  su  fully. 

Y    :  iur  fill  of  artists  and  poets  and  pianist 

I  k>n  't  tell  me  that  tl  ire  aboul       '1  dinner 

I  '  -1  them  at  it —oner  or  t  w  i         Red  can  adapl 

himself  to  an\  crowd,  can  hold  his  own  anywhere. 
is  n 't    an  rk   and    remember  tl 

myone  has         1  letter  brain  than 
Red.    See  hi        aong  your  artists  and  musicians,  or 

iliticiam  him  anyw  hei        u  could 

put  him,  Red  would  stand  out,  Red  would  be  found 

1  a  head  as  anybody  present — the  best 

■_rht,  D       '    likely.      And  th  -t   would   tell. 

You  M  always  bav<  be  proud  of  Red. 

It  \s  the  wi  the  a  of  tl  she 

in  her  hom<       I*    rests  with  you  to  be  the 

great  si  swell  in  town,  of  a  high-up,  refined  sort.  All 


MISS  INGALIS  211 

the  money  you  want,  the  best  of  everything,  a  beauti- 
ful house,  beautiful  dresses.  For  Red  not  only  is 
willing  to  give  you  beautiful  dresses — he  is  keen  to. 
You  couldn't  be  extravagant,  as  he  would  see  it,  in 
the  matter  of  dressing.  He  loves  a  pretty  woman,  and 
it  takes  clothes  to  make  a  pretty  woman ;  you  know 
it  as  well  as  I  do.  You  can  bank  on  getting  whatever 
you  want  in  the  matter  of  clothes  and  jewels.  With 
all  these  things,  as  I  was  saying,  I  don't  see  what  there 
is  a  girl  can  want  more  than  you  've  got  to  make  her 
perfectly  happy." 

Grace  intrusted  to  her  silence  the  mission  of  passing 
for  contented  acquiescence,  so  that  she  need  say  nothing 
in  reply.  She  was  looking  down  with  a  pensive  air 
that  could  have  been  mistaken  for  that  of  a  bride  im- 
pressed by  the  good  fortune  falling  to  her  share,  while 
she  was  in  fact  asking  herself  whether  Theresa  might 
not  get  some  whiff  of  the  thought  in  her  mind,  and  see 
a  likeness  between  herself  and  the  probably  quite  elo- 
quent personage  who  had  before  this  shown  to  more 
than  one  soul,  no  doubt,  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth 
in  one  vision,  with  their  glories. 

Resentment  so  fired  her  that  she  could  not  refrain 
from  looking  up  and  squarely  at  Theresa,  to  let  her 
judge  how  easy  it  would  be  to  buy  her  with  a  house 
and  clothes,  or  any  of  the  things  she  had  men- 
tioned. .  .  . 

If  Theresa's  fine  eyes — which  permitted  so  little  to 
escape  them,  of  a  kind — saw  nothing  in  Grace's  but 


II*  IUSS  [NGAUS 

their  charming  clearness  and  pretty  color,  it  was  I 
cause  she  was  really  stupid,  bo  far  as  Grace  was  con 

rned  ;  or  else  because  in  the  very  aexl  instant  <  \rw 
afranl  of  what  might  follow  upon  an  unguarded  ut- 

rance,  had  forbidden  her  e;  II  Theresa  any- 

thing. 

In  tin'  [light  Clare,  the  old  Clare,  ••am-'  siLd)in<_r  to 
thr  door  of  her  heart:  the  fairy  prince,  tin-  deliverer, 
Clare  the  wonderful,  the  tender,  wlw>  had  filled  1 
days  with  beauty,  to  whom  she  had  vowed  th»-  love  and 
loyalty  of  a  li' 

He  was  there  unchanged;  her  heart  could  not  keep 
him  cut,  <>r  wish  t.».     Sh implained  to  him  with  the 

rtainty  <>f  sympathy  about  this  stranger,  this  Bed 
( >\  ercome,  who  usurped  his  features:  one  who  showed 
do  honor  or  compassion  toward  orphans;  one  guilty  of 
brazen    untruthfulness;   one   capable   of   conducting 

hiniBAlf  toward  B  woman   in  of  mind  and 

body  as  a  chivalrous  gentleman  would  nut  conduct 
himself  toward  an  afflicted  monkey;  among  the  pag< 
of  whose  past,  moreover,  were  passages  kept  hidden 
from  her.     What  was  it  that  everyone  in  the  ho 
knew,  herself 

she  wished,  in  the  sad  blackness  of  a  clouded,  thun- 
derous night,  that  sh,-  might  have  laid  down  her  life 
for  Clare;  and  wished  with  the  same  passion  that  she 

>uld  die  to  If  rid  of  the  horror  of  Red. 


w 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HEN  Theresa  set  her  daughter  Pinky  to 
the  task  of  hemming  the  marriage  table- 
linen,  Grace's  amiability  was  put  to  the  test, 
with  the  result  that  could  be  foreseen ;  for  the  unfor- 
tunate child's  amiability  was  a  thing  to  be  played  upon 
like  a  piano.  With  what  countenance  let  Pinky  sew 
for  her  and  not  sew  with  her,  or  read  to  her  while  she 
sewed,  at  the  very  least  remain  in  the  room  for  com- 
pany? 

When  she  had  read  aloud  from  the  book  of  Pinky 's 
predilection  till  her  voice  was  tired  and  she  was  nau- 
seated, Grace  considered  her  choice  of  occupations:  to 
remain  with  Pinky  and  take  a  hand  at  hemming  nap- 
kins, or  to  go  out — with  Sita  tagging  on.  She  looked 
for  a  thimble  and  needle. 

Clarence,  in  search  of  his  fiancee,  found  her  in  the 
sewing-room.  It  was  an  unusual  time  of  day  for  him 
to  be  in  the  house;  at  the  sound  of  his  approach  her 
heart  beat  thickly;  a  wave  of  color  creeping  over  her 
face  nullified  the  effect  of  her  cool  and  collected  air. 
She  went  on  placing  her  careful,  unpractised  stitches. 

He  drew  a  chair  near  to  hers  in  the  bay-window 
overlooking  the  yard  with  its  one  great  elm.  Pinky 
did  not  get  up  to  go ;  Red  seated  himself  with  his  back 

213 


n  i  MISS   [NGALIS 

•  .vartl  her,  and  for  b  few  minutes  talked  of  ordinary 
thing 

Alter  watching  for  a  moment   in  silence  Qrac 
t  over  her  work — 
I        come  to  Bay  good-by,"  he  said.    "I  'm  going 

Jaffa  R  >ad  I  Snnday.     I  'm  taking  a  couple 

of  fellows  for  a  shorl  cruise  on  the  I  5  d,  I 
shall  Lr''t  back  on  Monday,  but  have  to  go  straight  to 
tin*  offic  i  won't  Bee  me  till  the  usual  time. 

Three  days  without  the  l»iur  brute,  Gra  I  Bball  be 
gone  three  whole  <l 

He  dropped  his         ■  and  Bpoke  in  a  breath  through 
closed  teeth,  with  the  obj<  making  it  difficult  for 

his  i. 

••  I  can '1  stand  any  more  of  thi       I  'm  ^oin« 

Wind  and  i  r 1  nerve  Bp 

cialisl  -  doI  to  have  too  damned  a  time,  I  'm 

making  beli<  tl  at  when  I  get  ba  I  -hall  find  yon 
turned  again  into  the  only  girl  I  think  about. 

i        up.  little  one 

Partly  to  prove  that  there  was  nothing  in  I 
to  him  ch(  er,  she  ob<  j  ed.    She  kepi   hi  r 

idy  while  I  em.     Bu1  his  wide  black 

ipila  %        '•    p  mor        I  the  longer  Bh< 

into  them,  the  impression  of  a  chasm  into  which  one 
might  fall.     Her  eyelids  dropped  abruptly.    Cheered, 
r  all,  his  livelier  note: 

"Miss  me  a  little,  sweetheart!     And  have  a  little 
gladness  ready  when  1  come  back  on  Monday!1 


MISS  INGALIS  215 

He  caught  both  her  hands,  kissed  them  quickly,  and 
was  off. 

"I  wasn't  going  to  leave  the  room  just  because 
Uncle  Red  came  into  it!"  Pinky  sniffed,  with  a  self- 
justified  air.     "It  's  my  room  more  than  his !" 

Grace  breathed  in  relief  to  think  that  for  three  days 
her  heart  would  not  hold  its  breath  because  of  his 
footstep. 

"How  one  does  miss  Red!"  sighed  Theresa  at  din- 
ner-time, looking  affectionately  toward  the  place  at 
the  table  which  her  brother  was  wont  to  occupy. 
"Children," — this  included  the  whole  family, — "I 
want  each  one  of  you  to  report  when  he  comes  in  the 
last  thing  at  night,  because  I  am  going  to  have  Sam 
shut  the  gate.  There  have  been  burglaries  lately  in 
this  neighborhood," — her  eye  turned  to  Grace  as  to 
one  in  the  secret  of  her  meaning, — "and,  without  Red 
like  a  watch-dog  at  the  front  door,  I  shall  feel  easier 
to  know  the  gate  is  shut.  So  be  careful,  you  boys,  if 
you  don 't  want  to  climb  over  the  railing,  with  the  dan- 
ger of  getting  spiked  on  it,  or  having  the  policeman 
come  and  investigate  you." 

One  watching  closely  might  have  seen  a  faint,  enig- 
matical smile  break  across  Grace's  delicate  lip.  It 
was  scorn  for  Theresa — with  her  tale  of  burglars! — 
derision  of  Theresa,  who  thought  it  worth  while  to 
play  this  elaborate  comedy  for  the  sake  of  deceiving 
her  who  was  so  little  deceived.     There  were  people 


.'hi  HISS   IM.  ILIS 

in  this  house  who  would  be  surprised  by  and  by  to  Bud 
out  \\  bo  bad  been  stupid, 

Suppose  suppose,  however,  thai  all  should  fail: 
thai  she  should  finally,  in  spite  of  everything,  fall 
into  the  chasm  of  which  Clare's  eyes  had  given  her 
the  realizatioi  His  remembered  look  clung  to  her, 
haunted  her,  frightened  yet.  in  a  way  that  made  her 
ha!'-  herself,  allured  her.    Suppose  that  all  the  for© 

mibined  against  her  should  prove  ton  much — that  all 
those  wills  bent  upon  her  should  hypnotize  her,  and 
that   in   9         iber  she  should  lie  married  to  Red? 

That  would  !•.'  falling  into  a  chasm — where  all   would 

dark   roses   under  sultry   golden   skies,   and  the 

fruits  of  the  tree  of  life    all  hut  one'  -low-hung  and 
jy  to  gath( 

A  hung        [is ted  in  her,  of  mysterious  origin  and 

date.  h.   whieh   could    he   Batisfied   only    hy 

mingling  her  life  with  that  of  this  man     Red  or  Clare 
— as  cli  watf         two  streams,    she  had  a 

foreshadowing  of  tl  joy  she  might  feel  in 

the  frustration  of  all  the  fixed  and  high  determina- 
tions  that  1    in    the   way:   I  nit    knew    in    the   same 

breath,  from  the  whisper  of  her  conscience,  that  such 

frustration    would    not    happen    unless    her    will    first 

re  corrupted. 

And  if.  with  open  eyes  and  th«-  consent  of  her  will, 

she  went   to  live  inside  the  hollow  hill   where  the  old 
unmoral   Lr"d-  -till   make  it    Klysium,   what   should  she 


MISS  INGALIS  217 

do  if  sounds  of  Christian  church-bells  came  to  trouble 
her  in  her  sleep  ?  What  would  there  be  to  do  ?  With 
what  grace,  in  the  name  of  self-respect,  could  she  re- 
pent to  the  end  of  the  world  ? 

She  hoped  feverishly  from  that  onward  that  she 
should  not  see  Eed  again — that  before  his  return  she 
might  be  gone.  She  counted  the  hours  till  the  letter 
which  she  was  painfully  awaiting  could  reach  her.  It 
did  not  seem  to  her  that  letters  were  interfered  with 
in  that  house  where  she  now  suspected  everybody  and 
everything :  they  were  received  at  the  door  too  openly. 

Theresa  herself,  in  fact,  handed  her  the  letter  on 
Saturday  afternoon,  after  saying  carelessly:  "It  's 
your  sister's  writing,  isn't  it?" 

With  well  acted  calm,  Grace  took  it  with  her  out  of 
sight,  thinking  as  she  climbed  the  stairs  that  she 
should  hide  her  money,  not  in  any  bureau  this  time, 
but  between  the  pages  of  her  most  uninteresting-look- 
ing book,  Latin  preferably. 

She  had  a  small  laugh  of  glee  at  the  success  of  the 
trap  she  had  set  for  Lydia,  writing  her  a  breathless 
line  of  request  for  an  immediate  fifty  dollars,  from 
which  Lydia  was  to  infer  that  her  sister's  credit  in  the 
eyes  of  the  rich  folk  not  yet  securely  her  own  was  in- 
volved, and  not  to  suspect  that  she  would  be  feathering 
the  arrow  that  should  stick  in  her  own  breast:  an 
empty-handed  little  sister  standing  in  her  Welaka  door. 

Good  enough  for  Lydia,  this  punishment;  no  more 
out  of  proportion  than  the  demand  for  fifty  dollars 


Miss  [NGALIS 

from  the  person  who  had  taken  one's  four  thousand. 
1 1  pace  hail  no  fear  of  Lydia,  at  the  very  bottom  of  her 
heart,  or  doubl  of  being  able  to  make  her  understand, 
when  Bhe  could  tell  her  the  whole  story.  They  were 
of  one  blood.  Wln-n  the  peal  Lydi  i  much  <>f  the 
time  buried  under  gru<  ations,  came  t  *  >  the 

surface,  as  once  in  a  while  she  did,  Bhe  was  tender  for 
brief  spells  toward  the  subject  of  her  perpetual  im- 
patience, the  Bister  whom  her  scoldings  bad  never  been 
able  to  reform. 

The  girl   paused  to  brace  herself  for  the  possible 
f  disappoint  men!  ;  but  lid  it  \\  ith  a 

of  lu\ur\  mid  feel  the  monej  of  deln erai 

* — the  letter         thick  '  it.     She  tore  it  open. 

The  letter  \\a>  thicl  s,  be  of  inclosing  B 

Bmaller  letter,  in  at  ber  <>hl  addn 

and  readdressed  I  l  to  the  care  of 

Mrs.   B  Poor  at   Welaka.     After  a  wave  of  Bick- 

ness  that  ui  to  the  end  of  every 

nerve  and  took  tl.        ength  out  of  her  kne 

I   sadly   that   she   had   been   over       guine   in 
thinking  that,  even  ii  L;  dia  had  made  all  h  ery 

!>«,-:. ii  wheel  would  move  surately  as  to  bring  her 

letter  at  the  earliest  minute  possible 

She  studied  the  envelope,  but  got  uo  idea  from  it. 
Tearing  that  open  too,  she  looked  for  the  Bignatur 
Andrei  -  I  >an< 

Wit!  of  wonder,  Bhe  turned  hark  to  the  h»*- 

iiiniiiLf. 


MISS  INGALIS  219 


i  c 


My  dear  Miss  Ingalis : 

I  am  writing  to  ask  your  pardon  for  an  offense  of 
which  I  cannot  repent,  but  for  which  I  yet  desire  most 
sincerely  to  be  pardoned.  If  you  have  lately  visited 
the  exhibition  room  of  Max  and  Bender,  you  may  un- 
derstand what  I  mean.  You  have  not  forgotten  our 
old  contests  of  the  composition  class  at  Fowler's — you 
remember  the  screen  on  the  morning  when  our  subject 
was  'Poverty.'  But  you  cannot  know  how  a  ray 
from  the  halo  you  placed  around  your  Bride  pene- 
trated the  armor  in  which  I  was  prepared  to  fight  the 
world.  I  have  seen  so  much  of  poverty,  and  hated  it 
so  deeply,  I  could  not  be  sufficiently  revenged  on  it, 
however  monstrous  and  loathsome  I  painted  it.  Yet, 
when  I  saw  your  picture,  I  knew  that  the  one  who  had 
made  it  was  somehow  in  the  right.  My  intelligence  re- 
volted, and  I  said  to  myself  all  the  practical  modern 
things,  in  which  there  is  a  great  deal  of  sense,  in  which 
there  is  all  good  sense.  But  when  you  had  been 
pointed  out  to  me,  I  knew  that  you  were  angelically 
right. 

"I  have  thought  about  it  a  great  deal  since  that  time, 
to  discover  why  you  were  right.  It  is  clear  that  the 
things  accompanying  poverty  are  not  good.  We  are 
not  barefoot  mendicant  friars ;  want,  sickness  without 
alleviations,  ignorance,  narrowness  of  circumstance, 
are  evils  that  the  lovers  of  their  kind  try  to  end  and 
not  to  encourage. 

"But  I  find  that  there  can  be  a  frame  of  mind  for  the 


10  MISS   [NGALIS 

modern  man  also  which  your  white  bride  of  Sainl 
Francis  symbolic  When  I  examine  the  world.  I 
thai  the  love  of  riches  is  at  the  bottom  of  an  enormous 
share  of  the  basem  ad  wrong  in  it.  A  contrary,  a 
ting  love,  if  one  mighl  attain  to  it,  would 
bring  the  balan<  fhl :  love  of  the  tasks  that  have 

largely  1"  gned  to  the  poor    labor,  Bervii 

every  kind  of  servic  L  ire  of  thai  frugality  which 
makes  men  more  equal,  as  well  as  prevents  the  pam- 
pered body  from  smothering  the  spirit.  And  then, 
simply,  thai  loi  I  man  which  would  forbid  wanting 
mi  r  oneself  than  others  hi         >r  wishing  to  keep 

things  from  otl         and  would  resull  in  a  noble  pov- 

•y     the  poverty  thai  coi  sharing,  and  again 

iring.    Saint   Francis  was  hardly  poorer  actually 
than  Penelon  in  his  epi         il  pa]  r  away  1 

enue  dai  by  day. 

stimony  of  all  tliis  I  w  ished  to  1"  ar,  and 
ur  thoughl ;  counting  upon  your  generosity  to 

••_ri\  -•  me  for  declaring  according  to  my  abilit; 
pel  forgotten  bj         ;-  body  I  ha         er  known  pi 

you.    Thai  I  made  the  vision  in  your  likeness  yon  will 

rgh -•  also,  1  I  It  was        only  because  the  i 

that  it  embodies  has  become  inseparable  from  you,  but 
i      ir  the  treacheries  of  lit''-,  and  that  the  im- 

e  of  the  far-away  princess  mighl  fade  a  Little  from 
my  visual  memory  with  a  Longtime  pa>sin^. 

■•  If  you  have  do1  be<  d  to  Max  and  Bender's,  I  hope 
yon  will  go,  after  which  you  will  understand  butter 


MISS  INGALIS  221 

what  I  have  written.     Will  you  send  me  a  line  to  tell 
me  you  are  not  annoyed? 

1  When  I  was  placing  all  my  strength  in  the  ambition 
to  conquer  fame  and  fortune  with  art  for  my  tool, 
you  reminded  me  that  there  is  something  more  beauti- 
ful— which  is  beauty.     For  which  I  thank  you. 
"In  profound  sincerity, 

"Yours  to  command, 

"Andreas  Dane." 


I  SAPTEB  XX 

GRACE  s  rendering  of  the  theme  given  onl 
1  '..v.  ler'a  art  school  had  Dot  involved,  on  the 
ferred  to  by  Andreas  Dan-',  any  great 
profundity  of  though!  and  feeling,  and  Bhe  knew  it. 
5T<  ••  there  took  place  in   Iht  a 

anting  reaching  back  toward  a  time  when  it  seem 

to  her  Bh<  r  to  being  fine  and  ■_ 1. 

It  was  owing  to  1  I  to  revive  the  ideala  «»t"  her 

wl  unhappy  as  she  w  'I  bean 

ul    thoughts    I'  lolation     that,    coming    half 

aw;        in   tl  found   herself  murmuring 

and    over,    like    a   child    in    f<  f    t'<.rLr<'t  t  Lng    its 

i:    "My  father's  daughter  makes  do  comprom- 
ise \\  ith  ei  il '  " 
Sunday  stretch  her,  waste  and  long.     No 

ly  in  the  ho  pi  A.un1   Dolores  and  the  serv- 

ants went  to  church.    She  did  not  often  go  herself: 
it  had  not  been  her  fat]  tn.     Bui  what  an 

e  cellent  way  to  get  rid  of  i  he  interminable 

noun  Monday  and  the  nearest  mail-time  I     In 

Uy,  t]  rable  ceremonies,  the  organ  music, 

tin-  Bofl  light  strained  through  holy  symbols  and  pre 

:•  in  her  breasl   a  little  qui 
828 


MISS  INGALIS  223 

But  the  motive  above  others  for  going  to  church  was 
to  get  away  for  a  breathing-space  from  the  house  and 
all  its  inmates.  Sita,  who  followed  her  around  like 
a  dog,  would  not  offer  to  accompany  her  to  church — 
of  that  she  could  feel  reasonably  sure. 

But  Sita  did.  It  was  when  Grace,  in  consterna- 
tion, looked  her  in  the  face  that  she  saw  what  she 
might  have  seen  earlier,  had  she  looked  as  search- 
ingly:  that  Sita  was  playing  a  part. 

Grace's  thought  traveled  back,  as  nimble  as  light- 
ning, over  their  late  intercourse,  and  the  situation 
became  so  clear  that  she  was  ashamed  of  having  been 
deceived  by  such  an  inferior  actress. 

So  as  not  to  appear  to  have  noticed  anything,  which 
she  took  to  be  the  game,  she  went  to  church  in  spite  of 
Sita,  and  with  her.  She  marveled  that  such  perfidy 
could  yet  seem  almost  innocent,  because  the  per- 
petrator was  devoid  of  moral  shame.  Sita  wore  the 
pleased  air  of  a  young  one  intrusted  with  a  grown-up 
task,  and  proud  of  acquitting  herself  so  well.  It  was 
a  pleasure,  though,  to  see  her  yawn  during  the  ser- 
mon. 

However  much  one's  heart  felt  as  if  a  wreath  of 
thorns  pressed  down  upon  it,  there  was  nothing  to 
do,  when  on  Monday  the  early  mail  brought  nothing, 
but  readjust  one's  hopes  and  fix  them  on  the  after- 
noon. To  remain  still  while  waiting  taxed  the  nerves 
so  beyond  their  capacity  that   Grace,  in  search  of 


14  MISS   [NGALIS 

tne  way  to  allay  her  restl<         3,  cl  >se  the  rotunda 

Uery  for  the  exercise  of  walking — a  pastime  which 
she  could  hope  to  enjoy  there  without  company. 

The  domed   room   waa  in  delicate   half-light,  « ■  \ « *  1 1 
though  Bummer  Buushine  entered  through  the  <!<><. 
open  "!i   the  yard,   whence  came   Indian   \<"s  wid 

inds  of  romping,   happily  deadened   by  distance 
B  ibby  was  home  for  the  hoi i da:        Round  and  round 
Grace  went,  with  bands  clasped  before  her  and 
benl   on   the  floor.     When,  Buffering   from  a  begin- 
ning of  dizziness,  she  till  to  lei  her  head  un- 
wind, something  clinging  to  il  M  walls  f    u   I  it 
i    3    ble  for  the  first  time  to  communicate  with  her. 
si                  use  for  th<        »1  time  of  the  poor  thini 
inhabiting  that  house  wheu  it  was  a  private  hospital: 
the  oervous  patients     politely  bo  called,  most   likely 
,i  little  mad;  prisoners  there,  pacing  the  floor  per- 
haps  like          '1   auimals,   while   they   dreamed   and 
plotted  their  esca]        The  iron  gates  and  railings  had 
t    up  to  1          them.     A   thought   sprang,   in 
that  connection,  which  Buspend      i  irt-1 
was  it  conceivable  that  she  no  more  than  th<  se  oth 
would  find  it  possible  to          tway  IV  inister 
do  ;  tht           re  d  '               al  times ;  this 
was  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  cenl         in  a  free  coun- 
try. 

si  1  walking  again,  and  made  a  sharp  effort 

to  think  collectedl;         idy.     With  the  best  intentions, 
Lydia  might  not  have  been  able  to  find  the  money  out 


MISS  INGALIS  225 

of  hand ;  it  was  unfair  to  think  she  would  fail  alto- 
gether to  send  it.  But — the  wisest  course  in  an  un- 
intelligible world  being  to  prepare  for  the  worst — 
suppose  Lydia  did  fail?     What  was  there  to  do? 

After  two  months  in  their  midst,  she  knew  a  good 
deal  about  her  companions  in  the  house.  She  had 
eyes  and  ears;  Pinky,  besides,  let  herself  go  in  a 
good  gossip  now  and  then.  Was  there  anything  to 
hope  from  any  one  of  them? 

To  begin  with  those  to  whom  her  heart  was  most 
inclined — the  best,  who  ought  rightly  to  be  the  most 
promising:  Uncle  Sylvanus,  the  kind  old  man,  had, 
alas,  nor  resolution  nor  resource :  he  was  what  Dolores 
must  have  meant  by  a  hen.  And  Dolores  herself,  the 
dignified,  the  pious — would  she  not,  but  for  being  a 
hen,  have  fled  long  ago  from  this  house  of  her  humilia- 
tion? Yes,  though  it  had  been  to  become  a  scrubber 
of  floors.  Set  aside  the  thought  of  help  from  the  good 
ones. 

Pinky,  who  came  next  in  the  order  of  innocuous- 
ness,  might  not  belong  in  the  same  broad  division  of 
humankind,  but  how  expect  from  one  so  narrow  and 
dry  a  befriending  for  which  a  little  impetus  of  gen- 
erosity was  indispensable?  Sim  Vawter  was,  in  the 
same  way,  out  of  the  question:  a  girl  could  not  be 
imagined  taking  her  troubles  to  him.  Nor  to  those 
young  hawks,  Alec  and  Junior,  violent,  indiscreet, 
alert  for  the  price.  Black  Overcome  she  had  come 
to   fear    and   hate,    to    regard   as    having   blood    on 


.Mi  MISS   [NGALIS 

his  hands  almost,  for  be  had  been  cruel  to  his  wife—- 
a  poor  enough  hen,  from  aLl  accounts:  he  had  broken 
her  heart.  Dolores,  who  loved  the  meek  departed 
lady,  had  talked  about  it.  bo  had  Pinky;  There 
herself  had  inadvertently  lei  .1  reference  to  it  fall. 
Black  0  ercome's  corner  <>i"  tl  im,  his  end  of  the 
table,  v.  if  filled  with  a  cold  gray  fog, 

enveloping  something  evil  and  do!  understood. 

The  one  upon   \n h< »m  the   mind  dwelt   most   wi 
fully,  after  all.  was   Rebecca,  her  cruel   mouth  and 
iriimii.il  eyes  notwithstanding.     It   had  been  strange 
to  learn  that  I;         .1  had  had  brain  fever  ae  a  resull 
of  grief  her  mothi       death:  the  Bhorl  hair  \\ 

;i  reminder  of  it.  Ami  yet  during  her  mother's  life- 
time Bhe  had  not  been  od  or  dutiful  daughter— 
quite  th<'  Qgular,  passionate,  discomfort 
ing  Lrirl!  I  had  been  well  disposed  toward  one, 
hers  were  the  I  and  daring  to  have  made  her  an 
tual  aid;  but  since  she  was  not.  and  never  missed 

chance  to  show  it,   how   trust   her  riot   to  betray 
one  with  the  same  \i--i"ii-         me  hail  been  seen  to  • 
hibil  in  stamping  out  a  Bpid< 

Qrace  flamed  with  Budden  rage  and  horror  at  them 
all.  nightmare  people  of  this  nightmare  house.  She 
clenched  her  fists  with  the  yearning  to  annihilate  i: 
and  them  to  r,  and  wake  in  a  world  where  th< 
had  no  more  reality  than  any  other  bad  dream,  and 
she  could  take  up  again,  as  if  it  had  not  been  inter 
rupted,  the  life  with  Lydia  and  Batey.     STes,  it  shone 


MISS  INGALIS  227 

in  the  past  with  a  thin  glaze  of  gold,  for  those  days 
had  been  happy  at  least  in  being  innocent;  they  had 
been  peaceful  at  least  in  that  she  had  not  been  at  war 
with  herself.  Though  Lydia  returned  to  would  not 
be  suave,  or  the  bloodless  Batey  sympathetic,  yet  the 
power  to  rejoin  them  represented  at  this  pass  the 
sum  of  earthly  desire. 

Her  heart  in  its  desolate  search  turned,  not  for  the 
first  time,  to  Ida  Lamont,  and  she  wept  tears  of  ach- 
ing affection.  There  was  one  who  would  respond  to 
an  appeal,  no  matter  how  demanding.  Why  not 
secretly  write  to  her,  without  waiting  longer  for 
Lydia?     Why  not? 

That  which  gave  Grace  pause  was  the  reflection 
that  Ida — lavish,  laughing,  warm-hearted  Ida — had 
known  Clarence  Overcome  for  years.  Her  joy  in 
discovering  him  on  board  the  Pretoria,  their  long  talks 
from  steamer-chairs  brought  close  together,  while  the 
old  major  and  she,  Grace,  paced  the  deck  arm  in 
arm — all  had  proclaimed  his  footing  of  an  old,  inti- 
mate friend.  And  knowing  Clarence  so  well,  Ida  had 
done  what  she  could — delicately,  but  sometimes  not  so 
delicately — to  bring  about  the  match  between  them. 
She  had  taken  frank  credit'for  fitting  her  little  friend 
with  a  rich  husband,  the  grand  prize  in  life,  avow- 
edly. 

Grace  held  to  the  belief  that  Ida  would  be  true  to 
her — but  yet,  how  forecast  the  actions  of  a  person 
who  in  fundamental  ways  has  been  proved  different 


.'8  MISS  INGALIS 

from  oneself  1     Bfighl  aol  1< la  fear  the  appearance  of 
working  againsl   Redt   and  haw  reason  to  fear  it 
And  then,  to  place  oneself  under  an  obligation  for 
money  after  taking  a  high  moral  attitude  toward  the 

manner    of    acquiring    that    money-    was    n    dec< 
could  it  come  to  g  Were  it  nol  better  to  pray 

I    d  and  rely  on  Lydi 

And  -".  caught  in  a  coil  of  youth  and  timoroi 
oess  and  Bcrupulosity ;  groping  with  troubled  hands 

Of  thought,   and    vainly,   around    the   walls  that    dosed 

her  in,  Qrace  trod  the  rotunda  gallery. 

Becoming  aware   ol   Theresa    in    the   dining-room 
doorway  watching  her,  she  stopped  short,    'id 
was  the  arch-enemy;  yet   every  time  Theresa  spoke 
to  her  in  thai  hearty  voice,  tli('  fear  would  com.'  thai 
she  mighl  be  guilty  of  a  ridiculous  injustice 

When  Theresa  asked,  "Whal  a'  ing,  my 

dear?'   (Jracc  ans\        I  amiably,  with  a  drawn  smil< 
"1  was  feeling  nervous,-  the  weather  perhaps  is  to 

blame,      and    I    th<>UL:ht    this  a  !    way   to   work    it, 

off." 

Red  l  Overcome  took  for  granted  thai  his  three  da 
of  absence  were  the  ••an--  of  his  sweetheart's  paler, 
sadder  lool        Be  was  startled  by  the  change  in  fa 
and  onlv  after  scrutiny  realized  that  it  was  due  in 
pari    to  her  having   returned   to  wearing  her  hair 

she  had  worn  it  at  the  time  of  their  first  acquaint- 
ance,  when   on   the   Pretoria   th<        .-wind   used    to 


MISS  INGALIS  229 

ruffle  the  adorably  demure  little  unfashionable  head. 
That  she  was  deeply  enough  in  love  with  him,  to 
have  dark  rings  around  her  sweet  eyes  for  his  sake 
gave  him,  after  the  first  whip-cut  of  glee,  a  melting 
sensation  within.  lie  wanted  to  gather  her  in  his 
arms  on  the  spot,  and  carry  her  away,  away,  out  of 
memory  of  the  mysterious  bothers  playing  the  devil 
between  them.  With  a  face  like  that  after  three  days' 
separation,  not  to  know,  the  darling  dunce,  that  what 
she  wanted  was  hardly  to  go  away  from  him ! 

He  had  high  hopes  of  a  better  understanding  be- 
tween them  before  parting  for  the  night,  and,  elated, 
showed  a  cheerful  animation  all  through  dinner,  hop- 
ing to  raise  her  spirits  by  it.  He  thought  he  had 
succeeded;  but  when  they  got  up  from  the  table, 
she  surprised  him  by  slipping  away  before  he  could 
stop  her,  and,  with  the  excuse  of  a  headache,  retreat- 
ing to  her  room. 


CHAPTBB  XXI 

LATE  thai  eight,  after  all  sounds  in  the  house 
feel  withdrawing  to  Bleeping  quarters  had 
died  away,  the  door  of  I  bedroom  opei 

without  a  premonitory  knock.     Reb<   ca  st 1  on  the 

threshold. 

SI         -  in  the  Bummer  silk  of  the  evening,  and  had 

oof   taken  the  cherry  ribbon  out  <>f  her  hair.     Her 

o  unusual  that  I  .  half  undres  ed,  and 

Sita,  already  in  bed,  looked  at  her  with  a  certain  ten- 

•  what  Bhe  wanted      Hei 
:iily   lustrous  beneath   the   habitual    frown;   the 
pout   of  her  lips  wa  i  disdainful,  as   usual;   but   ex- 
[    tided  n    tril  >  a  hint  of  some  emol  ion  at  work, 

the  character  of  which  was  oot  revealed. 
"Come  into  my  room,  Q  will  you       Bhe  said, 

demanding  than  one  making  a  requi 
•   1  want  to  show  yon  something 

•  ■  ( Jan  I  con     tool    Can  I  come  to        cried  sita. 
and  in  a         p  of  curiosity  jumped  half  out  of  bed. 
"No!"  Bna]  her  cousin,  turning  to  leav< 

Q]  1  on  a  wrapper     A  Btir  of  hope  • 

in  her  heart   becaus  this  simple-seeming  event, 

which  wore  the  face,  to  her,  of  something  good  hap- 
pening at  last.     Rebecca  was  going  to  ahow  \kt  some 

230 


MISS  INGALIS  231 

ordinary  girl-thing,  probably — a  hat  or  dress  she  had 
just  bought :  the  lateness  of  the  hour  has  never  formed 
an  obstacle  to  young  women  who  wish  to  show  one 
another  a  hat,  or  dress,  or  his  photograph.  The 
important  point  was  that  Kebecca  must  have  felt  an 
impulse  to  express  friendliness,  and  was  taking  this 
naive  way  of  making  a  beginning.  Her  brusqueness 
covered  a  pardonable  embarrassment. 

The  smothered,  trembling  regard  that  Grace  har- 
bored for  Rebecca  was  reinforced,  on  the  way  to 
her  room,  by  a  kind  of  confidence  inspired  by  the 
straight  young  back  and  proudly  set  head  going 
before  her. 

After  she  had  closed  the  door,  'Rebecca  said,  point- 
ing to  a  chair  near  the  window,  "Sit  down.'  As  she 
turned  off  the  only  gas-jet  till  it  was  the  size  of  a 
sapphire  in  a  ring,  and  then  pulled  another  chair 
to  the  same  window,  Grace  understood  that  the  prom- 
ise to  show  her  something  had  been  a  pretext  to 
bring  her  where  they  could  talk.  She  was  waiting 
with  too  great  interest  to  see  what  would  be  the 
subject  of  their  conversation  to  try  to  forecast  it. 

Rebecca  leaned  on  the  window-sill,  with  her  head 
projecting  into  the  soft  June  night.  At  the  darkening 
of  the  room,  the  nocturnal  out-of-doors  had  become 
relatively  light;  street-lamps  reddened  the  house- 
fronts  and  made  the  stars  of  the  far-away  sky  look 
blue  and  tiny,  almost  invisible.  Grace  examined  the 
outlook  with  greater  care,  to  see  whether  it  had  any- 


MISS  [NGALIS 

thing  unusua]   to  account   for   Rebecca's  absorption. 
No:  ill-'   front  p;  the  iron  gate,  wide  open   to- 

night; the  sidewalk  with  its  lamp-post;  the  deserted 
street ;  the  h<  ... 

A-  Rel  had  brought  her  there  for  a  purpose, 

she  had  only  to  wait,  Grace  r  '    I  d,  for  this  to  un- 
fold.    Meanwhile,  it  <li«l  not  seem  to  her  tl. 
for  tentative  small  talk  on  her  part     Her  wonder 
;it   the  prolonged  silence  was  taking  the  quality  of 
ficat  ion,  n  hen  her  companion  spol 

I    want   you   tl  who   |  I  1*  this  In »u^'         1 

don't  know  bow  long  v.  y  have  to  wait.1 

The  Bilence  that  again  e  to  1"'  was  indefinably 

different   from  the  Bilence  I              After  the  length 

time  it  would  take  I  with          the  words 

last   heard,  a                 ued  from  the  slims         I  the 

two  Bhapes  in  the  wind  which  had  a  proper 
mil  of  character  and  control,  even  a  commendable 

-  : 

■■Will  it  interest  me 

•  1  don't  know  I        me  from  the  bulkier  shape,  in  a 
small  burst       impatience  at  being  required  to  both 
with  fine  discriminations;  the  voice  added,  after  a 
moment :    "  But  it  will  open  your  - 

After  another  interval  i  quietly  enough: 

"Tell  me  whom  1  Bhall  »ming  out  of  the  hon 

"Can't  you  wait   ""  asl  i  d   Eb         i,  in  a  tone  of 
reprehension  for  the  evil  vice  of  curiosity. 


MISS  INGALIS  233 

"You  said  there  might  be  a  long  time  to  wait." 

"All  right — I  '11  tell  you;  and  then  you  '11  get 
proof  with  your  own  eyes  that  what  I  tell  you  is 
true.  You  '11  see  a  person  that  I  let  in  the  house 
myself  half  an  hour  ago.  Why  did  I  let  her  in? 
Because  the  servants  have  orders  not  to.  She  's  my 
best  friend,  and  called  it  a  matter  of  life  and  death 
to  have  a  talk  with  Uncle  Red ;  so  I  smuggled  her  into 
his  room,  where  he  couldn't  help  coming  in  the  course 
of  the  night,  and  where  she  's  now  having  her  scene 
with  him." 

The  words  came  forth  with  an  effect  of  ferocity, 
poor  substitutes  for  knives,  aimed  by  a  desire  to  stab. 
There  was  dead  stillness  after  them,  as  if  the  victim 
had  been  adequately  struck.  But  presently  it  was  as 
if  the  victim  rallied  and  spoke,  after  all,  without 
sign  of  discomposure  from  the  blow. 

"You  mean  Mrs.  Fenn,  don't  you?"  Grace  asked. 

"Yes.     Has  he  told  you  about  her  himself?" 

' '  No. ' '  After  another  pause  for  reflection :  ' '  Why 
are  you  telling  me  about  her?" 

' '  Because  she  's  my  best  friend ;  and  as  I  feel  in 
my  bones  what  he  's  putting  her  through  downstairs, 
it  struck  me  I  might  be  getting  in  a  little  fine  work 
up  here.  He  's  in  love  with  you,  fast  enough — oh, 
he  's  in  love  with  you  now.  But  I  can  do  some  good. 
You  won't  be  ideally  happy  when  you  know  he  was 
just  as  much  in  love  with  her,  and  more,  less  than 


W  VIISS   [NGALIS 


six  months  I  k>ttj  about  her  I     And  he  's  1 1 

her  like  dirt. 

Rebecca '8  voice  had  the  defensively  aggressive  ring 
of  a  child's   1':  wi'ui        The   news 

with  which  sin-  thought,  presumably,  to  Btartle  Grace 
fell  "ii  do  unprepared  ground.     It         aed  to  <;race 

that  she  had  known  this  already.      She  f«'lt   it   vital  to 
I   a  JU   '  i j « •  n ^ i < . 1 1  of  the  situation,  and  asked: 

!  row  had  she  treated  hi] 
"01    '  l •'•■■  ■•  is  a  beautiful  woman,  and  she 

Rebecca  'a  voice  changed 
defiantly  exculpating.    "She  wasn't  careful  of  his 

him  jealo  i  but,  after 

all  he'd  Bworn  about  devotion,  Bbe  never  supp 

e  could  1      k  on  He  ^  enl  off  to  the 

tndiee  u  >vy  with  1         tnd  h hen  she  n 

looking  for  him  to  come  back  in  a  bett         tnper,  and 
was  prepared  I  e  him,  he  turned  up  whistling 

>u.     We  all  supposed  it 
tting  square  with  her,  till  w        n  you  together. 
Then  w<  it  up  —  it  was  too  mysteriou 

"Was  he  1  to  Mrs.  Fenn 

1  re  wanted  to  be    he  pleaded  to  I        It  amount 
to  his  l)'iii'_r  i  her,  don'1  you  know,  without 

her  being  exactly  engaged  to  him.  She  ">  always  been 
a  1  eauty,  I  told  you,  and  used  to  having  her  own  way. 
she  wenl  so  far,  anyhow,  as  Letting  him  go  ahead  and 
buy  a  house  and  tit  it  up  for  her— the  house  that  's 
ing  to  I  its;  but  she  didn't  consider  he  had 


MISS  INGALIS  235 

any  right  to  make  a  fuss  if  she  went  to  dine  and  to 
the  theater  with  another  man.  She  's  a  spoiled 
beauty,  I've  told  you  already!  But  she  couldn't 
have  believed — could  anybody? — that  he  would  come 
back  in  six  weeks  hating  her  just  as  much  as  he  loved 
her  before !  And  no  pretense  about  it — can 't  toler- 
ate the  sight  of  her.  It  's  genuine ;  I  see  it,  and  tell 
her  so.  But  she  can't  believe  it.  Now  he  spits  on 
her,  she  thinks  he  's  the  only  man  she  ever  loved  or 
meant  to  marry.  She  thinks  he  's  only  pretending 
about  you  to  hurt  her,  because  his  hate  is  only  a  dif- 
ferent kind  of  love. 

"And  when  he  paraded  you  at  the  party  with  the 
pearls  on  you  that  she  'd  thrown  back  at  him  in  their 
last  quarrel,  it  did  look  like  it,  I  own.  But  I  knew 
better:  I  knew  it  was  only  Uncle  Red's  nature  not  to 
miss  a  chance  to  get  a  knife  in;  it  was  n't  love  in  dis- 
guise. But  she  's  been  possessed  with  the  idea  that 
if  she  could  only  get  at  him  by  themselves  for  a  min- 
ute, and  explain,  plead,  everything  would  come  right 
again.  He  's  been  sending  back  her  letters  unopened ; 
he  won't  let  her  come  near  him. 

"So  I  finally  agreed  to  help  her,  because  she  's 
fretting  herself  into  a  sickness.  When  she  's  seen 
for  herself  that  it  's  no  use,  she  '11  start  in  to  get 
over  it.  She  promised  to  make  a  sign  when  she  came 
out — a  sign  of  joy  if  she  's  won  him  back.  But  if  I 
hadn't  been  dead  sure  of  the  outcome  I  don't  know 
that  I  'd  have  helped  her.     I  don't  want  her  to  marry 


MISS   ING  \l  IS 

l(  Red    know  linn  too  welL     5     i      d  have  him 
"You  hate  him  verj  bitterly      That  ia  not  as  liki 
to  make  ua  i  lited  for  I  In*  u'o.ul  in  a  \wv*oi\  as 

for  the  bad,  ia  it 

I         known   him  all   my   1>         Hon    long   li 

* 

tli.  11  pie    question,     put     moekingly,     the 

that   follow  i  dropped 

ill-  Il      NN  1  '1(1 

threw    I  it>    i  advei 

K  herself,   h 

inkind  to  1  ill,  unkind  to  h 

in   lh(  io 

in  tlir  tliii         f  the 
ul, I  i  i   the  world  of 

St'S 

:iiins 

I  ply  in  f  to 

d    t«» 

I  will  ith,  Rn  1   i  n«>t 

know  n  Iiim  1  igh  to  v  him  mi 

|Mlll 

n   little  trouble 

w  >•  '  But 


MISS  INGALIS  237 

see  your  faces,  both,  of  you,  to  know  it  won't  amount 
to  anything.     "What  's  it  all  about,  anyhow?" 

"I  had  rather  not  tell  the  reason  of  our  difference, 
but  I  will  tell  you  that  I  have  been  wanting  very  much 
to  have  the  marriage  put  off  and  to  go  away  for  a 
time.  But  I  can't  seem  to  accomplish  it.  The  things 
you  have  just  told  me  make  me  wish,  naturally,  more 
than  ever  that  I  could  go  away.  But  they  don't 
want  me  to.  Clare  and  Theresa  don't  want  me  to, 
and  they  won't  let  me.  And  it  happens  that  at  the 
moment  I  am  without  money,  or  I  should  not  have 
to  wait  for  their  consent.  If  I  had  my  fare  to  TVelaka, 
in  Florida,  where  my  sister  lives,  not  for  twenty-four 
hours  longer  would  I  remain  here.  Nothing  could 
keep  me.  If  you  would  let  me  have  the  money  to  go, 
Rebecca, — lend  it  me,  I  mean, — if  you  would  show 
me  this  friendliness,  I  should  cease  at  once  to  be  a 
source  of  anguish  to  your  beautiful  friend  Mrs.  Fenn. 
She  would  have  a  free  field. " 

"You  're  bursting  with  jealousy,  are  you?  Good 
work ! '  cried  Rebecca,  harsh  as  a  cock-crow  coming 
to  disturb  some  flattering  morning  dream.  "But 
vou  're  mistaken.     I  don't  want  vou  out  of  the  wav. 

v  mm 

I  told  vou,  I  don't  want  Grace  Fenn  to  marry  Uncle 
Red.  No,  I  thank  you !  To  get  him  twice  in  my 
family,  when  once  is  too  many.  Then,  I  care  too 
much  about  Grace.  Uncle  Red  's  got  a  mean,  cruel 
streak  in  him.  you  '11  find  out.     Xo ;  everything  's  for 


18  MISS  IMi.U.l 

th(        '      Marry  him  and  take  him  out  of  the  hou 
All  I  wanted  was  to  drop  a  spider  in  his  ••up  of  hap 
pineas   for   future   u        Tins  quarrel   of  yours  will 
blow  over,  hut   you  won't   feel  mtented  and  aafe 

in  your  marria  oil  didn't  know  he  <1  been 

dotty  about  another  woman    just   before  you  came — 

and  could  1"'  dotty  over  you  minute,  and  willing 

t  In   oexl  t  chop]   '1  on  a  chopping-block  and 

the  p         throw  ii  to  tin  i  You  won  t  i  glad, 

w  hen  \  ou  know  w  hat  \  ou   ; 

[f  I  could  beii<  Q  rd  breathing 

quickly .  from  do  um  ion—"  it'  I  could  be- 

li.\ e,  R  are  in  <  and  are  d 

doing  th  >  l-  i  are  in  1  irtun  lur  friei   I 

and  m 
I  should  think  you  w  cruel,  as  malignantly 

you  '.ill  your  I fuel  •  R<         I  si  >uld  think  it 
a  family  l  What  harm  have  ]        'donetoyouf1 

and 
you  ve  made  me  sick,  w  it  h  your  airs  and  aff         ton 
••  I    hav(      I      now.     I  ry.     I    have  n 't 

known   how  to  help  it.      And    for  things  that   arc   i 

my  fault  you  want,  jual  power,  to 

make  me  wretched  for  my  whole  lif<      It'  th  |       not 
cruel     it'  that  'a  oot  mean — ' 

■•  l  don't  care  what  you  call  me  I    And  I  don't  care 

what  you  i  Even  if  I  wanted  to  lend  you  money 

tor  youi  irida,  where  I  have  n't 

d  ailowam        We  have  accou         il  all  the  big 


MISS  INGALIS  239 

stores,  but  pa  doles  out  spending  money  to  rne ; 
there  's  rowing  about  it  the  whole  time ;  I  'm  always 
without  a  cent.     Besides,  they  'd  find  out." 

''You  're  not  afraid  of  them." 

"Not  afraid  of  them?  Not  afraid  to  work  against 
Uncle  Red?  Ain't  I?!  .  .  .  You  don't  know  Uncle 
Red,  I  've  told  you  already.  And  Aunt  Theresa  is 
right  there,  like  another  of  him.  All  she  knows  in  the 
world  is  brother  Red.  Let  her  see  he  wants  a  thing, 
she  gets  it  for  him.  Let  her  see  he  wants  you,  and 
she  's  ready  to  feed  you  to  him  like  a  little  pink  radish. 
She  hated  Grace  Fenn  because  she  kept  him  dancing ; 
and  she  loved  you  because  you  were  a  sweet  revenge. 
She  pretended  to  think  anyone  in  the  world  could  see 
you  were  ten  times  superior.  She  made  it  out  you 
were  a  feather  in  the  family's  cap,  and  a  whole  cap 
of  feathers  on  Uncle  Red's  head  in  the  eyes  of  the 
people  that  had  seen  Grace  Fenn  make  him  look 
small.  Of  course  she  was  pleased  with  you!  And 
of  course  he  won't  let  you  get  away.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  be  the  one  responsible  for  your  escaping.' 

"What  would  he  do  to  you,  Rebecca?' 

"I  don't  know.  But  if  you  think  he  'd  just  let 
it  go —  He  'd  do  something  devilish,  never  you  fear, 
if  it  was  only  to  scare  me  to  death,  like  poor  Uncle 
Miles.  See  here,  don't  you  dare  tell  about  to-night,  or 
I  '11  do  something  in  that  line  myself." 

"I  won't  tell,  Rebecca — but  not  because  you 
threaten  me,  not  because  I  'm  afraid  of  you.     For 


io  MISS   [NGAUS 

if  you  are  afraid  of  them,  don't  you  you  're  do 
better  than  I  for  courage  and  strength.  Rather 
worse  because  suddenly,  I  Bwear  to  you,  I  could 
burst  «-ut  laughing,  I  am  so  little  afraid  of  you  all. 
The  thing  is  too  runny,  too  fantastically  vulgar  and 
ugly;  it  doesn't  belong  to  real  life.  1  laugh,  yon 
Bui  that  yon  're  anxious  I  -il   in  safety 

irprises  me,  rather,  in  youj  because  I  bad  imagined, 
befoi  ing  yon  Dear  to,  that  yon  *  i  different 
kiml  of  girl     bold,  yon  know,  and  generous.     It  h 

me  notion  of  romantic  fitness,   I  suppose,  clinging 

tO  n  n   th<  I 

' '  I  don  t  u  hat  yon  saj  !     I  doo  t  w  hat 

yon  think  I     1  know  what  I  m  about     I  know  Uncle 
\i  d     .  ou  don  't.     Cine  l  does  \\  bal  he  want 

he  he  want       I !•  itt  that  '>  alL     1 1< 

always  got  it  ;  'I'll'         brought  him  up  like  th.it.     Be 
did  n "t   get   it   with  l  an,  and  bow  he 

catching  up.     It'  yon   think   Uncle   Red    leta   u,n  or 
gii es  in,  don 't  j ou  I  ed.     And  it'  it  loo]         if 

were  giving  in,  look  out!  for  he  isn't, — then  par- 
ticularly he  isn't.  Bush!  I  heard  the  d  click. 
She  'a  coming.     I  'nil  hack  out  i 

B  i  lram  d  rth.  and  < Irace,  her  heart 

throbbing  with  t In*  strength  of  her  emotion,  looked 
downward  from  the  shadow  of  the  curtain. 

The  street-lamp  lighted  ;i  figure  in  black  descend- 
ing the  j.  As  if  reminded,  it  stopped  half  way, 
and.  twisting  backward,  raised  a  white  face  to  the 


c  c 

i  i 


MISS  INGALIS  241 

window  where  Kebecca  was  stationed.  It  was  recog- 
nizably the  beautiful  Mrs.  Fenn.  After  one  small 
flap  with  it  as  a  sign,  she  pressed  her  handkerchief 
to  her  lips,  while  a  convulsion  ran  over  all  that  re- 
mained visible  of  her  face.  With  the  other  arm  she 
made  a  desolate  gesture,  eloquent  of  failure.  She 
hurried  to  the  sidewalk,  and,  with  the  weighted, 
trembling  feet  of  one  struggling  in  a  bad  dream,  ran 
down  the  street.  They  watched  the  knot  of  her  lu- 
minous hair  as  it  diminished  and  went  out. 

Rebecca,  breathing  through  clenched  teeth,  turned 
from  the  window. 

Damn    Uncle    Red!"    she    came    out    burningly. 

Oh,  damn  him!  I  wish  something — the  most  aw- 
ful that  could — would  happen  to  him.  I  hope  he  '11 
have  some  disease.  I  hope  he  '11  have  some  accident. 
"Wish  his  horse  would  bolt  with  him  and  break  his 
neck.  No — I  wish  it  would  drag  him  along  the  ground 
and  spoil  his  face  for  him.  Grace  Fenn  would  get 
over  her  infatuation  then,  and  so,  I  guess,  would 
you,  Grace  Ingalis.  You !  You ! — "  her  intensity  in- 
creased, as  her  imagination  entered  fields  even  more 
rewarding,  "I  wish  something  hideous  would  hap- 
pen to  you !  Wish  I  could  stamp  my  foot  and  make 
the  ground  open  to  swallow  you,  while  his  heart  is 
good  and  bound  up  in  you.  That  would  give  him  a 
wrench;  that  would  get  Grace  Fenn  even  with  him." 
Her  wrath  fell  suddenly;  it  was  difficult,  in  the 
darkness,  to  tell  why. 


Miss  [NGALIS 

'I  don'1  mean  I  i  ish  you  any  harm  for  your  >wn 
sake  this  mimr  '  she  took  up.  as  if  weary  from  her 
own  passions.  "This  minute,  I  don't.  I  <l  be  will- 
ing to  help  you,  if  I  could  this  minute.  Bui  it  'a 
true  that  I  baven'1  *_r<>t  the  money,  and  don't  Bee  any 
way  of  jetting  it  without  their  finding  out.  And 
it  's  not  a  tin).'  when  I  want  t"  get  into  a  family  row. 
I  Ve  loei  my  nen  mehow,  this  lasl  year.'  Her 
wrath  flared  again.  "Why  on  earth  should  I  gel 
myaeli  in  hoi  water  for  yoi        What  business  of  mine 

i^  r  I      <  food  DJghl  lie  said  dr\  ly  .  "'  I   want  to  go  to 

bed." 

She  turned  up  th<        .  and  the  illumination  df  the 
room  torn         -  clear  a  Bign  of  dismissal  as  turning 
it  would  ordinarily  do. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  the  dead  of  night,  Grace  wept  deeply,  endlessly, 
as  one  weeps  only  in  youth,  and  in  youth  a  few 
times  only,  but  as  it  were  fitting  to  weep  at  any 
age  if  one  could  believe  that  the  stars  were  blinded, 
the  flowers  withered,  for  good  and  all,  love  and  hap- 
piness done  with.  So  as  not  to  waken  Sita,  she  cried 
inaudibly,  as  far  as  possible  inside  of  herself.  It 
seemed  to  her  at  one  moment  that,  notwithstanding 
her  efforts,  Sita  had  heard,  and  was  lying  awake  in 
strained  immobility  to  listen.  The  diversion  of  this 
perception  quelled  her  grief  for  a  few  minutes:  the 
thing  seemed  too  monstrous.  But,  upon  the  reflection 
that  it  was  not  different  in  that  from  all  the  rest,  she 
wept  on  with  reckless  abandonment  of  the  spirit. 

Her  woe,  translated  into  a  wind-wail  that  swept 
through  and  whirled  around  her,  would  have  carried 
to  a  distant  ear  able  to  interpret  the  wind  one  an- 
guished, reiterated  question :  ' '  What  snare  is  this  that 
youth  had  set  for  my  life  ?  "What  pitfall  had  life  pre- 
pared for  my  youth?'  Being  alive,  being  young — 
nothing  but  that — had  involved  loving,  and  contained 
the  great  illusion  that  what  one  loves  must  by  that 

same  sign  be  worthy.     And  now,  what  to  do  forever 

243 


S44  MISS   [NGALIS 

with  this  burden  weighing  down  the  heart,  indestruct- 
ible, useless,  and  ashamed ! 

When  tlit>  blackness  of  oighl  was  b<  irimiin^  to  \  h-i<i 
to  the  dawn,  she  placed  her  case  on  the  knees  of  her 
father,  thai   dear  earthly   father  of  whom  she  w 
Barer  thai   he  would  sympathize  with  her  than  Bhe 

aid  I (  the  heavenly  one.    She  asked  him  to  ash 

the  <  tther,  more  powerful  over  evenl 
the  extraordinary  difficulties  of  his  presenl 

pass;  not  to  forget,  either,  her  consistent  if  confused 
groping  after  beauty  of  life,  her  return  in         cloth 
and  ashes  from  the  paths  <>f  wm- hlliness  into  which  Ik  c 
t  for  ;i  time  had  strayed. 

she  wept  till  her  head  fell  liki       Iden  wood,  and 
her  trange    and    drowned    and    diminished. 

Tears  were  wrung  from  her  by  the  contemplation 
her  personal  tragedy  and  the  I         ly  of  life  in  gen- 
ii, till  qo1  one  was  lefl  d,  and  she  lay  empti 
of  gri(         well  as  of  joy.    Then  J      ■      •   ■  r  a  fVw 
hours,  and  awoke  surprisingly  calm. 

II'  r  bn     ■  is  quiet  I  city  <>f  which 

all  the  inhabitants  ha'        en  killed  rried  into 

captivity.  Aide,  in  this  suspension  of  sibility, 
to  think  with  great  singlen*  ted  to  think 

thoughts  of  purposeful  strength  and  of  hop<  Her 
term  in  this  house  wai  a  it-  end.  The  delayed 
letter  would   com        -day.     She  should   start    forth 

• 

on  a  walk  a1  the  right  hour  in  relation  to  her  train. 
Site  would  be  with  her,  no  doubt.    Very  well;  Sita 


MISS  INGALIS  245 

would  behold  her  buying  her  ticket.  What  could 
she  do  about  it,  little  spy,  except  run  home  and  tell, 
too  late  to  alter  anything? 

There  were  others  in  the  house  who  had  not  had 
their  normal  good  night.  The  delights  of  satisfied 
anger  had  retarded  sleep  for  one  of  these,  as  a  too 
full  repast  might  have  done.  Red  Overcome  did  not 
grudge  the  time  taken  from  rest  to  indulge  visions  of 
the  humiliation  of  one  who  had  earned  his  hate. 
Sleep  finally  drowned  out  a  bitingly  zestful  frame  of 
mind,  to  keep  him,  however,  in  dreamless  darkness 
for  all  too  short  a  while.  He  emerged  from  it  in  the 
small  first  of  the  daybreak,  to  feel  annoyed  at  waking 
in  this  unaccustomed  fashion  before  time  to  get  up ; 
he  accounted  for  his  broken  sleep  by  the  fact  that  he 
was  bothered  about  Grace. 

He  was  worse  than  bothered — he  was  tormented. 
Her  face  of  yesterday  afternoon  spurred  him  to  find 
some  remedy,  and  that  quickly,  to  a  misery  that  re- 
acted on  him  in  a  searching  pain  through  heart  and 
vitals.  The  poor  child  was  her  own  first  victim ;  that 
obstinacy  which  made  her  stick  to  her  point  was  like 
a  weapon  in  her  hands,  with  which  she  wounded  her- 
self while  wounding  him.  She  had  her  own  kind  of 
strength,  the  darling  dunce,  and  his  strength — since 
she  balked  so  at  domination ! — must  not  be  put  forth, 
except  so  far  as  necessary  to  keep  her  from  doing 
lasting  mischief.     Ingenuity  was  here  in  demand — or 


£46  MISS  [NG  \i  is 

perhaps  only  eloquen        There  were  in  the  language 
the  righl  words  to  I         a  yielding  thai  would  Leave 

p  pride  unoffended.     Be  did  d<  I      gard  himself  . 
poor  in  verbal  resour         .M         korms  of  words,  aptly 
let  1'  mighl  d>>  them  both  the  service  of  giving 

Imt  do  ch  talk  back,    she  thought  he  did  Dot 

understand  her.     I*  was  she  who  did  do!  understand 
complete         I  fortune  in  having  a  man  as  ready 

he  w.  pari  she  wished  to  Bee  him  in — 

just  Bhorl  of  the  lunatic  who  would  Lei  her  go. 
to  that,  he  could  n't:  it  wasn't  the  way  be  was  mad.'. 

e  had  □        aprehenaion,  even  dow,  of  the  strength 

He  thought  of  this  a  long  time;  he  meditated  up 
th<  finally  holding  her  and  having  his 

:  of  her  stilled  l»y  «pii«'t  p<  ion.      \ 

little  thing  whose  v  raid   almost     pan   with 

his  hands,  v.  ankle  hi        ild  encircle  with  thumb 

an  1  '        p — wh  aade  her  the  only  girl  in  the 

world  thai  counted  1        i  inquiry  into  this  question 

resul        :t isfj  iiiLr  to  tlir  intelligence.     Th<    • 
pr         i  of  her  upper  Lip  had  something  to  do  with  it, 
he  thought. 

II  \  drowsy  amid  yearnings  to  give  her  pr 

ent       poil  hi  her  his  little  queen,  revive  in 

her  that  admiration  for  him  which  she  had  Dot  oaed  I  i 

nceaJ  so  well.    God  almighty!  how  glad  he  was  of 
the  rupture  with  (  Penn  devil  and  now  a 

dose  -that  had  opened  the  way  for  Grace  [ngalis. 


MISS  INGALIS  247 

That  last  heavy  sleep,  from  which  he  waked  with  a 
start  and  the  feeling  of  having  overslept,  left  him 
enervated,  languid,  with  his  good  humor — that  fine 
flower  of  a  good  appetite,  good  sleep,  the  habit  of  suc- 
cess— notably  in  eclipse.  A  cold  shower-bath  brought 
him  more  nearly  up  to  pitch,  but  could  not  dispel  a 
most  unphilosophical  impatience  with  the  very  nature 
of  things,  the  slowness  of  time  included.  A  most  un- 
characteristic fear,  too,  worried  him,  while  in  this  con- 
dition, of  things  going  wrong  in  spite  of  all  the  fore- 
thought and  attention  to  detail  that  a  man  could  bring 
to  a  good  cause. 

He  was  at  the  office,  attending  to  work,  when  a  ray 
illumined  the  part  of  his  mind  that  was  not  concern- 
ing itself  with  profits  or  losses  to  Overcome  Brothers, 
and  warned  him  of  one  thing  that  might  easily  go 
wrong.  At  the  picture  of  the  increase  of  vexation  to 
him  following  upon  the  venom-darting  of  a  serpent 
hacked  in  two,  he  ground  his  teeth  and,  dropping 
work,  turned  his  undivided  mind  upon  the  subject. 

Not  at  once,  but  after  perhaps  half  an  hour  of  re- 
flection, he  had  his  breath-catching  inspiration ;  he 
gave  another  half  hour  to  examining  it.  Then  he  did 
an  almost  unexampled  thing  for  an  Overcome ;  in  the 
middle  of  the  forenoon  he  left  the  store  and  went 
home. 

His  search  for  Grace  was  short;  Theresa  could  tell 
him  where  to  find  her. 

She  had.  seated  herself,  with  her  book,  on  the  part 


248  MISS  [NGALI9 

of  the  bench  under  the  elm  thai  faced  away  from  the 
ho  :M'l  bo  could  oof  aim  approach.  Sanguine 
as  he  felt,  and  rare  of  his  big  strength,  the  firsl 
glim]  ice's  arm   beyond   the   tree-trunk— 

slender,  too,  and  clothed  in  gentle  white— deprived 
him  of  the  absolute  confidence  he  was  wont  to  cherish 
in  his  power  of  putting  his  projects  through.  He  pe- 
lted valiantly  against  this  lover's  nervousness,  and, 
If  thai  it  \  mquer  or  die  this  time, 
walked  over  the  gra 

It  w  •  day.  of  thai  warmth  which  has  qoI 

lost  all  f real  md  -park If ;  the  gn  en  had  aummei 

fullness  already,  bul  do  dustim  et     Red  could 

Bhe  I  i  him,  thai  <  I  pace  was  doI  read 

inur:  her  book  was  on  her  lap,  while  her  ■  tixed 

on  tic  ghostly  head         dandelion  gone  to  Bead. 

She  looked  up  quickly  when  his  hulk  cul  off  the 
green  glare  of  the  gi  and  be  Baw  her  hand  tighten 
on  the  ■  of  her  book,  aa  ii  ed  with  a  'Tamp. 
It  rather  hurt  him,  and  her  face,  which  she  had  amu 

gled  cut    into  tin-  open  air.   hoping   that   before  lunch- 
time  the  I  WOUld  have  blown  away  the  mark-  of 

tic  aight,  Bhocked  him  at  the  same  time  that  it  hurt. 
For  the  breeze  had  do1  done  the  work  •  tpected  of  it. 
Be  fell  Dothing  trongly  .it  the  moment  as  that  this 
must  he  Btopped.  0]  crying  herself  blind — mys- 
child! — when  there  was  he,  peady  to  unhitch 
tic  moon  from  tic  skies  u>  please  her  I 

"Isn'1   this  rather  unusual.'"  Bhe  Baked,  in  a  voice 


i  i 
I  i 


MISS  INGALIS  249 

which,  with  the  revelations  of  her  face  directly  under 
his  eyes,  came  as  a  surprise,  so  controlled  it  was,  cas- 
ual, in  good  form. 

"You  mean  my  coming  home  at  this  hour  of  day? 
Unusual?  Yes.  I  don't  know  when  I  've  done  it  be- 
fore. I  don't  remember,  in  fact,  ever  doing  it.  May 
I  sit  down?  I  notice  you  don't  ask  whether  I  'm 
sick." 

It  's  easy  to  see  that  you  aren't." 
I  am,  then — sick  to  death,  Grace,  of  this  situation. 
I  can't  keep  my  mind  on  my  work.  I  can't  think  of 
anything  but  you  and  how  to  bring  things  round 
again.  Now,  darling  girl,  I  have  something  to  say, 
and  I  want  you  to  hear  me  out  before  you  bring  in 
anything  of  your  own.  Because,  little  one,  I  'm  get- 
ting to  know  you.  "Words  count  a  lot  with  you.  You 
say  something, — it  may  be  just  a  whim  that  makes 
you, — and  then  you  feel  you  've  got  to  stick  to  it,  be- 
cause to  give  it  up  would  look  like  weakness.  So  don't 
say  a  word  before  I  've  finished  telling  you  my  plan. 

"What  's  going  to  save  us,  Grace?  We  can't  go 
on  like  this,  all  tangled  up  in  a  quarrel  about  God  al- 
mighty himself  does  n't  know  what !  The  moment  has 
come  when  the  building  's  afire  and  we  've  got  to 
jump.  We  can't  stop  to  unpick  knots;  we  've  got  to 
burst  our  way  through  the  snarl.  What  are  we  wait- 
ing for  to  get  away  from  this  house  and  folks  that  you 
seem  to  hate  so?  The  fifteenth  of  September?  For 
what  reason,  will  you  tell  me  ?     Has  it  occurred  to  you 


260  MISS  [NGALIS 

thai  we  « 1< »n  t  liavc  to?  Come  with  me  quietly  and  be 
married,  to  day,  to-morrow,  or  Thursday,  and  on  Sat- 
urday   we  '11    start    for    Europe.      What    do   yOU    say? 

No,  don't  speak  yet.    The  moment  we  've  done  that, 

don't  von  Bee,  all  this  won't  count  any  more  than  rain 

in  th<  We  >hall  be  bride  and  groom  beginning 

our  life  together.  You  don't  know  me  in  the  part  of 
that  happy  man.  You  'II  see  whether  I  'm  in  earnest 
aboul  wanting  to  make  yon  happy.     We  '11  have  the 

»d  old  days  of  the  Pn  I  dn,  only  thai  1 

.f  3  ou  as  I  want  to,  and  show  that  it 
amounts  to  something  to  be  the  sweetheart  and  wife 
of  <  Harence  ( >verconn 

The  emotional  inflections  of  bis  vo      reminding  him 
of  th<         y  morning  thoughts  in  pi         of  eloqueo 
l  •    p  ached  after  a  little  poetrj  : 

•■  You  '\ >■  told  ni         ir  1"\ e  for  Italy.     1  've  only 

m  in  London   for  a  few  days,  on  busine        5Tou 

can  show  me  your  Italy.     We  'II  do  the  thing  in  style, 

Grace.      What   \s   that    passa^f  aliolit   "a    villa  on    Lake 

<  Pauline       We  '11    take    one.    Then    then 

Venice  ami  gondolas,  Naples  and  Vesuvius,  Rome  and 
ruin<.    Florence  and   what-not,  towers  and   templ< 
hhi'  and  <  when    i         faint.     We  '11  do 

the  whole  thing.  1  '11  take  bLx  months  off— 1  '11  take 
a  year.     You'll  you  Tl   see,   iinamiable  person, 

what  kind  of  a  husband  you  've  got 

Jo,  don'1  Bpeak  yet     Don't  speak  at  all,  'Jrace. 
Just  look  at  mel    No,  don't  even  look,     rou  don't 


MISS  INGALIS  251 

have  to  make  the  smallest  sign.  Leave  it  all  to  me. 
Only  don't  holler  when  I  come  with  horses  and  car- 
riage, and  pick  you  up  and  carry  you  off  to  be  mar- 
ried. Pretend  to  faint.  That  will  be  all  the  sign  I 
want  that  you  're  not  so  cruel  as  to  wish  to  break  my 
heart."     He  stopped  and  watched. 

Grace,  with  her  book  on  her  lap,  had  been  fingering 
the  corner  of  a  page,  curling  it  into  a  tight  roll. 
When  he  ceased  talking,  she  smoothed  it  out,  and,  see- 
ing that  it  would  not  lie  flat,  took  the  pains  to  curl  it 
in  the  opposite  way  before  she  said,  in  her  dry  manner 
of  that  morning,  out  of  keeping  with  the  stain  of  tears 
plainly  to  be  recognized  on  her  eyelids : 

"You  are  speaking  to  someone  who  is  not  there.' 
;  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  followed  her  quickly. 
Isn't  that  clear?     You  are  speaking  to  someone 
who  you  think  will  be  moved  by  what  you  say,  and  I 
am  not." 

Her  calm  jerked  him  out  of  his. 

"You  look  this  minute  as  if  you  'd  cried  your  eyes 
out,"  he  said,  with  a  tempestuousness  not  free  from 
petulance;  "you  look  as  if  you  'd  half-way  gone  into  a 
decline  with  grief,  and  you  talk  to  me  like  that,  as  if 
you  were  perfectly  indifferent!  Child,  can't  you 
make  up  your  mind  to  have  a  little  mercy  on  me  as 
well  as  yourself  ? ' ' 

Again  she  took  her  time  before  speaking,  and  dur- 
ing the  silence  ran  a  careful  forefinger  round  and 
round  a  patch  of  light  on  her  knee.     It  was  nearing 


<  i 


Miss  [NGALIS 

Doon.    They  Bat  in  a  tenl  of  shade,  but  through  renta 
ami  there  sunshine  rained  down,  ling  Little 

pools;  now  and  then,  at  a  rustling,  all  ti  of 

»ld  would  swing  am  .t.  unite  and  si  I b<  o 
lie  .still  again  and  shine  tremulously.  ind  and  sun, 
it  all  kept  on  in  beauty  and  gladm  mnd  these  tn 

whose  more  pressing  affairs  made  it  unimportant  to 
them.     Ai1      I  rture  of  brushing  away  the  sun- 

beam, <»:        ilasped  her  hands  to  keep  them  qui 
"Vim   oeed   have   do  anxiety    for  me.     I    Bhall  do 
ry  well,  I  think. "  sin-  said,  with  more  of  her  unfeel- 
ing calm.    "As   for  you     "     Did   a   little  emotion 

her  \ "I'-'-,  "i"  it  an  increase  of  coldne 

which  produced  the  same  "As  for  you,  I  am 

imt  afraid  of  luv.ikini:  your  heart.     What  you  m 

do  is  take  tl.  Lturday  in   any  case,  and 

go  off  for  a  diversion  fr         our  c  You  may  on 

board  meet  .just  tin-  right  person  to  transfer  your  af- 
I ions  to. ' 

!«■•  d  •!'.     The  !  ateni  I  him  to 

still  while  hi         Ived  it.    Then  he  burst  forth, 
aim         -  much  in  relief  as  in  anger : 

"l>  thai  what  the  matter  be       Who  V  \»'>-\\  talking 
to  you 

\  thim_r  that  everybody  knows  is  nut  easily  1. 

|y  in  this  house  did  it.  all  tin-  Same.      I  know 

how  you  got  it.     When  did  she  do  I  should  Like 

her  letter  of  li         Now,  just  Listen  to  my  side 


MISS  INGALIS  253 

of  the  story,  and  see  whether  you  've  got  anything  to 
feel  sore  about.  It  's  true  that  I  was  in  love  with  her. 
Why  should  I  have  told  you  about  it,  just  to  upset 
you?  I  made  a  fool  of  myself;  I  won't  conceal  it. 
And  what  did  I  get?  Fairness?  Decent  considera- 
tion ?  She  'd  promise  one  minute  to  marry  me ;  she  'd 
take  my  gifts  fast  enough ;  but  she  could  n  't  treat  me 
fairly  even  when  she  was  letting  me  kiss  her  to  heart's 
content.  She  played  with  me  like  the  damned  flirt 
she  is.  She  's  been  in  Canada,  where  she  got  a  fancy 
for  titles.  A  Canadian  friend  with  a  handle  to  his 
name  came  to  town, — a  little  insignificant,  high-nosed 
stick-in-the-mud, — and  I  was  made  a  supernumerary,  a 
back  number.  The  Canadian  was  played  off  on  me, 
and  I  on  the  Canadian.  Whether  she  really  thought 
she  'd  like  to  be  called  'Lady,'  or  just  wanted  a  chance 
to  refuse  a  title,  I  was  made  ridiculous.  My  objec- 
tions to  the  part  were  funny,  her  way  of  looking. 
When  I  'd  lose  my  temper  I  was  funny.  When  I  'd 
had  enough  of  it,  I  broke  away,  as  sick  of  Grace  Fenn, 
I  swear  to  you,  as  I  ever  expect  to  be  of  anything  in  my 
life.  The  thing  ended — it  ended  right  there.  When 
I  've  had  enough  I  've  had  enough.  Go  too  far  with 
me,  and  it  's  like  the  scales :  you  overload  one  plate, 
the  other  comes  up.  It  isn't  safe,  with  me,  to  go  be- 
yond the  line  I  draw.  If  you  feel  the  least  inclined  to 
jealousy  on  her  account,  you  can  drop  it.  I  hated 
her  when  I  ran  away  to  try  to  change  the  current  of 
my  thoughts;  I  've  hated  her  ever  since.     She  could 


£54  MISS   [NGALIS 

no  more  gel   me  back  than   hrin^  the  dead  to  lit 
She  's  tried,  and  tried  her  1"         It  would  have  < i« >n«» 
you  good  '"  hear  me  talk  to  her  in  our  last  interview 
— which  took  place  oot  bo  awfully  Long  ag 

"Ton  are  mistaken;  it  would  not  have  done  me 
g l.     [t  does  nol     latl  r  or  gratify   me,   whatever 

ur  righteous  motives  for  wrath,  to  have  been  taken 
up  as  an  Instrument  with  which  to  punish  another 

ighting  \\  ith  words  will  drive 

insanel     You  were  not  an  instrument,  you  were  a 

godsend!     Aifter  that  empty-headed  bunch  of  vanity, 

3  our  modesty,  3  our  1  3  our  quiet  I  od 

inemenl  -is  it  ■  wonder  I  tumbled  head  over  heels 
in         with  youl  and  in  a  wa\  as  different  as  you  ai 
diffc '  the   hart    panteth    after   th( 

brook  ■ '     1  was  after  you  like  a  >>li  I      Fou  remember  1 
5Tou  don 't  doubt,  <!«»  you,  I         .  thai   I   fell  in  lo 
with  you  t M 

There  was  an  interval  while,  again  curling  a  leal 

r  book,  Bhe  a[>[  i  to  con  ider  the  thing  impar- 

tially. 

"No,  1  don't  Buppose  1  'I".  The  trouble  is  that  1 
don't  want  it  now.  There  is  just  one  thing  I  want. 
1  tave  told  you  what  it  is.  I  want  to  go  away  from 
here. " 

'•1 k  me  in  the  face,  Grace.     Do  you  '-are  one 

little  bit  about  me 

She  complied  without  hesitation  with  his  request  to 


MISS  INGALIS  255 

look  him  in  the  face,  and  in  her  eyes  of  determined 
detachment  the  glimmer  grew  of  a  tricksy  expression 
with  which  he  was  familiar.     She  smiled  oddly. 

"Which  do  I  have  to  say  in  order  to  be  let  go?" 

4 'You  mean  you  're  ready  to  lie  to  get  your  own 
way.  You  can  lie,  but  your  eyes  can't.  Say  what 
you  please,  your  eyes  tell  a  different  story,  in  spite  of 
all  you  do  to  conceal  it. ' ' 

"I  know — I  know  I  can't  conceal  the  fact  that  I 
cried  all  night.  It  was  dreadful — but  the  dreadfulest 
thing  about  it  is  that  I  could  never  make  you  under- 
stand why  I  cried  like  that.  It  was  like  forest  fires, 
that  rage  hour  after  hour.  Then  they  are  put  out 
with  damp  sand.  All  I  have  here  now" — she  pressed 
her  hands  one  over  the  other  against  her  breast — "is 
damp  sand.  It  's  a  wonderful  relief.  The  fire  is  out 
to  the  last  spark,  Clarence.  You  had  better  believe 
it,  and  give  me  the  pennies  that  I  regard  as  belonging 
to  me,  and  let  me  go  to  my  sister;  for  I  shall  never  be 
the  slightest  good  to  you  in  the  world  after  this." 

He  burst  into  a  laugh  whose  ring  would  have  made 
the  children  uneasy  in  the  house  of  the  ogre  who  had 
given  them  shelter  for  the  night. 

"You  are  speaking  to  someone,  my  love,  who  isn't 
there !  No,  0  snow-peaks  and  frost-bites !  If  you 
think  that  when  you  've  got  me  where  I  can't  live 
without  you  I  'm  going  to  give  you  up  with  less  fuss 
than  a  tooth,  you  are  n't  thinking  of  Overcomes.  I  'd 
have  to  be  a  thundering  fool,  and  you  'd  be  the  first 


6  MISS  [NG  Mis 

in  think  me  one     (  hild,  can't  you  You  're  in- 

dulging a  mood,  a  whim;  you  don't  know  your-. 'If 

what    you    want.      Ami   you   i  :    afl   if   it 

were  my  mood,  too,  my  whim,  ami   I  didn't  know 

either  whal  I  want         What  will  happen  if  1  let  you 

Nobody  can   tell.     Whili  here,   though 

yon  're  nol  always  a  perfect  joy.  |  k         at]    isi  where 

find  you.     [f  yi  ibility  is  there  '11  1  e 

One   flat-chi    I  1    maid   the   more   in   the  world.      If 

)nii  Btay,  there  '11  be  a  wedding  in  September,  if  i 
I 

1 1  lly  dii  e  why  Bhe  should  all  at  on 

blazing  angry.  II'-  had  nol  meant  any  melodramatic 
thi  :  he  \  ring  a  mere  incapacity 

to  be)  rarac 

merely,  derived  from  a  \  ari(  m- 

inine  chai  that   I        eptember    or  b  -her 

mood  wonld  have  changed.  Bui  it  \-  as  if  he  had 
touched  a  match  to  pine-pitch.    She  started  to  her 

and  stood  quivering  like  a  lil  ■     ■ 

fixing  him  with  coruscatii 

■'What  will  happen  in  September  I  do  not  know."' 

aid.  with   lips  that   made  missiles  of  the  v  as 

they  gushed  from  thai  fountain.    "1   may 

ing  away  from  here  I  '  that,  or  not 

— God  know       I   -hall  do  my  b         Bui  you  ha 

methods  in  this  house  that  I  am  not  used  to  and  am 
no  match  for.  Don't  think  I  don't  know  that  I  am 
w;  1  and  followed,  robbed  and  i  !.      I  'm  in 


MISS  INGALIS  257 

a  trap ;  I'm  in  a  prison.  You  count  on  my  not  hav- 
ing friends  or  money.  It  looks  just  now  as  if  I 
hadn't  any,  I  own.  Still,  it  may  turn  out  you  were 
wrong.  But  about  one  thing  nothing  will  make  any 
difference,  and  that  is  about  marrying  you,  Red  Over- 
come. You  can  keep  me  here  under  guard,  and  you 
may  be  able  to  get  me  to  the  altar;  but  you  can't  make 
me  say  'Yes.'  I  will  say  '  No '— '  No '— '  No ! '  I  will 
say  it  aloud.  I  will  scream  it  before  everybody.  I 
am  not  a  hen,  you  will  find  out.  Do  you  see  this?" 
She  raised  her  right  hand;  though  so  delicate,  it  for 
the  moment  looked  steel-strong.  "I  swear  it!  By 
everything  I  believe  in,  I  swear  it.  Now  don't  you 
think  you  might  as  well  let  me  go  ? " 

He  had  been  watching  her  from  under  a  gathering 
frown,  at  first  of  puzzlement,  and  gradually,  as  her 
tirade  progressed  toward  its  climax,  of  less  scattered 
and  floating  emotions.  She  looked  back  at  him  with 
eyes  of  intense  and  indignant  earnestness,  recalling 
her  father's  when  he  had  denounced  a  tyranny  or  de- 
clared a  bitter  truth. 

The  jilted  man  must  obviously  be  allowed  a  little 
time  to  grasp  the  new  ideas  presented  to  him ;  but  he 
adjusted  himself  more  quickly  than  might  have  been 
expected. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  breathing  audibly,  "I  do." 

He  was  angry,  too,  no  doubt ;  but,  instead  of  grow- 
ing redder,  like  her,  he  had  grown  pale;  rigidity  in- 
vested him  to  the  lips.     His  ' '  Yes,  I  do, "  would  have 


B  Miss  [NGALIS 

•i  her  greater  cheer,  bad  he  qoI  at  the  moment  of 
Baying  it  looked  bo  dai  is.    Still,  the  words  thai 

her  free  had  been  spoken.  It  becoming  certain,  in 
a  momenl  more,  thai  there  was  to  be  do  outburst  from 
hi  !••  proach  or  pleading,  her  relief  was  increased 

on  the  one  ride,  and  on  the  other  her  uneasines 

"When  do  von  want  |  '  he  asked,  in  a  manner 

that  Indicated  lm\         initely  she  had  —by  words  that 
oever  could  '         ailed  or  forgive]        it  herself  Loo 
from  him  ami  placed  herself  beyond  Borne  mysterious 
pale. 

any  timi        she  said  eagerly.     "To-day,  to- 
morrow.     I'  d     -n't  matt        i  much,  it'  I  only  km>w 
that  I  surely  can  ^r". ' 
"Will    Saturday   do       I    can't    very   conveniently 

re  that." 
It         her  turn,  taken  aback,  t<>  be  silenl  while  she 
tried  to  grasp  a  new  id<  a. 

"No,"   -I"'  -.lid  ;  "'I    am   go  lone.       I    wish   to   go 

alone. " 

"I  am  going  with  you.     Fon  an  g   to  be  • 

•  1  to  your  Bisti       door  and  deposited  there  like 
a  bundle  of  return  la." 

She  Looked  in  his  for  h<  Ip  to  und         od  him; 

but   that    {>". Miliar  and   bafflil  J       ithdrawal   of  expres- 
n  had  taken   place   which   made  him   appear  like  a 
stranger-  a  Binisti  ■■  this  time,  a  had  >tranger. 

"No,  lid,  more  firmly;  "I  am  jroing  by  my- 

self. 


MISS  INGALIS  259 

''You  're  going  with  me,  or  you  're  not  going!" 
The  hint  of  brutality  in  his  peremptory  voice  af- 
fected her  very  curiously.  There  could  be  no  mistake 
about  his  being  blackly  angry.  The  tide  of  red  had 
returned  to  his  face,  darker  than  ever;  the  veins  in  his 
forehead  stood  forth,  swollen  and  purplish ;  he  too 
could  snarl  with  his  eyebrows,  she  saw,  like  Alec  Over- 
come. 

'Why  should  I  trust  you?"  he  came  out  violently. 
'How  do  I  know  where  you  intend  to  go?     1  know 
mighty  little  about  you,  it  turns  out.     You  're  going 
with  me — or  you  're  not  going." 

"Very  well,"  said  Grace,  after  another  silence;  "I 
will  be  ready  for  Saturday. ' ' 


<  BAPTEB  XXIII 

IT  seemed  strange  I    be  quietly  and  openly  folding 
her  thu        ind  laying  them  in  her  trunk.    She 
felt  like  one  who  by  aecidenl  had  .spoken  the  magic 
w  which  the  enchantment  snaps  and  tl 

fall.    She  kepi  herself  reminded,  however,  that  she 
w as  -;ill  in  the  I  ochanter. 

Clarence  did  not   i  home  to  dinner;  but  Bhe 

found  tin  •  family  who         tnbled  around  the 

table  informed  of  her  ap]  rture,  and  in 

b   general   way,   with   unohtrusi  as,   un< 

pectedly  pleasanl  about  it.     The  understanding  v. 
quickly  gathered,  that  she  wa  to  1 

lily  for  a  li;-  'ore  her  m< 

professed  I         jard  i;  as  a  very  natural  desire  ou  1 

Pt,    ami    was    kind    and    Sympathetic.      Seeing    it 

an  act  ni'  generosity  t<»  L< ;  the  one  whom  she  \ 
appointing  ■  he  cl         I        •  lent  her- 

self to  tin  m  like  the  little  woman  of  the  world 

she  a1  her  mom<  ota  aspired  to  become.     A  good  deal 
wai        I  about  mi        -  her. 

It  wa         iving  to  the  sensibilities  thai  Theresa,  who 
in  known  the  truth,  should  |  id  thua  hard- 

ily, and  fn        r  from  the  dread  of  reproaches  or  into 

200 


MISS  INGALIS  261 

cession;  but  Theresa's  eyes! — those  frank,  good-hu- 
mored eyes!  .  .  .  Grace  could  not  adjust  her  ideas  to 
the  mendacious  eyes  of  Theresa. 

Rebecca,  from  her  place  farther  down  and  across  the 
table,  gave  her  a  long,  steady  look  of  indefinable  im- 
port, but  turned  away  as  soon  as  Grace's  glance  urged 
hers  to  be  more  explicit;  and  when  Grace,  after  din- 
ner, approached  her,  she  avoided  Grace,  consistently 
with  her  habit. 

After  the  lights  were  out,  and  Grace  lay  in  bed, 
wakeful  for  a  long  time  beside  the  slumbering  Sita, 
and  thinking  of  a  great  many  things  that  she  had  put 
away  from  her  to  think  over  more  pertinently  in  the 
undisturbed,  secret,  and  counsel-bringing  hours  of  the 
night,  she  tried  to  interpret  Rebecca's  look  as  con- 
veying sober  congratulations  at  her  prospect  of  escape. 
In  that  connection,  she  reviewed  all  that  had  passed 
the  night  before  between  herself  and  Rebecca;  she 
recalled  their  words  with  reasonable  exactitude. 

From  much  thinking,  a  little  cold  place  came  to  be 
at  the  mysterious  spot — in  heart  or  brain  or  spine — 
which  we  will  call  the  central  seat  of  her. 

The  hour  at  which  Aunt  Dolores  was  wont  to  start 
for  mass  found  Grace  listening  for  the  rustle  that  re- 
vealed her  passage  down  the  stairs.  She  waylaid  her, 
to  say  good-by  a  little  personally  and  privately.  A 
beam  of  genuine  tenderness  came  into  Aunt  Dolores' 
face  as  Grace  pressed  her  soft,  plump  hands.     The 


£6  MISS  [NGALIS 

two  looked  at  each  otl  r  a  moment  ;  then  ( Ira 

threw  her  ai  iround  Dolores,  and  Dolores,  noise- 
lea  ly  in  teai  .  ,  turned  the  embrac  They  did  not 
speak,  as  if  the;  red  to  1"'  overheard,  or  as  if 

th  had  known  thai  they  understood  by  touch  better 
than  by  v.  until  <  Ira       aid,  a       i  often  before, 

'"  Pra;  Shi        led,  underlining  the  word, 

and  ceasing  suddenly  to  smile,  "  Really!" 

SI  1  her  room  with  a  lighter  heart,  as  if 

she  1  pardon  and  been   forgiven:  because 

e  bad  d  able  to  exclude  contempt  from  her 

ml  I  >ol<         and  \\  ith  growing 
ju  hours  oldi         •  had  seen  her  conl 

ii«-\\    light.     Dol   res,    well    I  irn,   Southern,   constitu- 
nally         ilent,  bad  known   bitter  poverty   in   the 

1.       he  bad  been  brought 
i.  "u  ben   l  Mil<  a   intervened.     So  th 

u ith  ill  languor  upon  her,  to  I"' 

!  red,  had  lue  to  I 

who  rent.     The 

in.  by   right    \v;i>   involved   in 

»uld  be  ruined  by  a  turn 
of  the  wrist    if  e  if.     Not 

brave  in  tl  .  .sin*  took  the  burden  of  her  cro 

the  Church  each  day,  and  got    reconcilement   there, 

en  love  for  her  enemies,  some  of  them,  to  whom 
1  Mi.-.l.     For  Bhe  w ai  an  affections 

ai :  she  dressed  dolls  for  Zip,  who  waa  impudent  to 
her;  she  darned  la         ir  Th<  who  did  not  reprove 


MISS  INGAIJS  263 

Zip.  Grace  made  apology  to  her  in  her  heart — while 
determining  never  to  become  like  her. 

Later  on  this  same  day,  Grace  slipped  upstairs  to 
inform  Aunt  Marinda  personally  of  her  departure, 
and  to  take  leave — fondly,  without  witnesses — of  her 
as  well  as  dear,  decent  Nora,  who,  if  her  room  had 
been  searched  for  the  missing  money,  had  given  no 
sign  of  knowing  it. 

Grace  had  delicately  tried  for  the  favor  of  the  in- 
valid, pleasing  her  with  little  attentions,  offerings  of 
her  favorite  pansies  and  old-fashioned  peppermints; 
reading  aloud  to  her  from  the  Bible,  which  voluntary 
task  the  old  lady  utilized  in  part  to  the  child's  own 
profit:  Grace,  in  her  opinion,  did  not  show  sufficient 
diligence  in  the  reading  of  her  Bible. 

On  the  Sunday  before,  after  the  memorable  church- 
going  with  Sita,  Grace  had  gone  to  sit  a  while  with 
Aunt  Marinda,  largely  to  escape  the  others,  but  also 
for  the  pleasure  of  being  able  to  answer  Aunt  Mar- 
inda's  slightly  severe  question:  "Have  you  been  to 
church  ? ' '  for  once  in  the  affirmative. 

She  had  found  Uncle  Sylvanus  occupying  the  rock- 
ing-chair on  the  other  side  of  the  cold  stove,  and 
had  been  happy  over  this,  because,  if  she  was  before 
long  not  to  see  him  ever  again,  she  would  have 
liked  to  leave  with  this  Overcome  who  was  so  little 
of  an  Overcome  the  knowledge  of  her  affectionate 
respect. 

He  was  more  responsive  to  her  conversational  lures 


64  MISS   [XGALIS 

thai  afternoon  than  he  bad  ever  been,  with  the  rest 
the  family  present.     [Ie  remembered  her  interest  in 
tin*  story  of  i In*  young  .1.     e  win)  delivered  his  breth- 
i'ii  from  capth         he  went   far  back  in  his  life  to 
tell  something  of  his  part  in  tl  ry — the  bardshi] 

his  boyish  lot  until  Brother  -I  ame  to  the  res- 

The  r  gard  of  both  the  old  pe  >ple  for  the  mem- 
ory of  their  big  brother  was  touching.  Grace  noticed 
th(  texture     I    3^  1\  anus'  I  ined  old  bands, 

the  deli  of  his  featur  Iness  of 

hi-  .id  1"  1  that  nature  !  ad  had  what  are 

called  "absi  when  Bhe  mixed  the  elements  tl 

formed  those  t\*        Tl         i  man  ile,  in  respoi 

mile  at  ia  .  had  been  plainly 

old  man 's  blessii         It  warmed 

r  t  roubl  feel  that  quite  every  rela- 

tion of  hei         h  the  people  of  thai  house  had  been  a 

A^  Bhe  mounted  I  od  flight         taira  betw< 

»r  and  Aunt   Marindas,  a  voi  ■  i   I 

ire  and  more  distinctly,  issuing  from  tin-  high  room  j 
an  unusual  event,  because  Aunt  Marindas  door  n 

d  with  weath         rips  to  keep  out  the  draught 
— or  keep  in  the  n  Tl  d  aboi  e  ordi- 

nary  pitch,  quavered   like  organ-tones;   remarkably, 
tlif  words  home  on  that  solemn  and  powerful  breath, 
able  to  pi(        "In'  do  r,  Bounded  to  Graces  ear  li! 
"  'Woe  unto  thee,   Chorazinl  woe  unto  thee,  Beth- 


MISS  INGALIS  265 

saida!  '  "  But  they  could  not  very  well  be  that,  she 
thought. 

She  hesitated;  then,  jumping  over  the  process  of 
making  up  her  mind,  knocked.  Nora  opened  the  door 
a  very  little  way,  but,  seeing  who  was  there,  threw  it 
wide  open  for  Grace  to  enter. 

Dolores  was  in  the  room,  too.  Her  face  and  Nora's 
both  wore  that  blankness  which  serves  to  cover  per- 
turbation. Aunt  Marinda  was  perceptibly  in  a  state 
of  excitement :  her  cheek-bones  burned,  her  cavernous 
eyes  were  alight ;  her  black  cap  had  been  shaken  out 
of  the  ideal  symmetrical  squareness  on  her  head. 
With  the  same  fine  and  unaccustomed  vigor  exhibited 
by  her  voice,  her  hands  grasped  the  ends  of  her  arm- 
rests, and  appeared  like  an  eagle's  claws,  superb  in 
some  piece  of  decorative  carving.  It  was  borne  in 
upon  Grace  by  the  sight  of  her  that  the  old  lady  must 
have  been  having  one  of  those  " times"  to  which  she 
had  heard  reference  made.  "Woe  unto  thee,  Chor- 
azin!  woe  unto  thee,  Bethsaida!'  might,  after  all, 
have  been  her  cry  a  minute  ago. 

Uncertain  what  else  to  do,  Grace  proffered  her 
hand.  Aunt  Marinda  looked  at  her  for  some  time  be- 
fore moving:  she  might  have  been  trying  to  see  her 
through  a  fog.  She  quieted  down  marvelously  during 
that  wait,  and  when  she  said,  "It  's  Gracie.  How  do 
you  do?  "  and  gave  her  hand  in  reply,  it  was  done 
naturally;  she  appeared  her  ordinary  self  again. 

Dolores  rose  with  the  alacrity  of  a  guilty  gladness 


£66  MISS  WG  \l.is 

to  yield  to  another  her  plaee  of  patient  and  respect- 
ful audience.  After  an  expressive  sign  covertly  to 
<  i r  tiptoed  toward  the  door,  carrying  the  nar- 

A.-.i  Bhouldera  and  drawn-in  neck  of  one  who  Bcut- 

tles  to  shelter  out  i  m.     Her  impulse,  it  I ame 

idenl  <1  i r«-<-r I \-.  was  shared  by  tin*  sturdy  Nora     who 

••■.]  upon  it.  hoi       r,  in  a  manner  more  accordant 

with  her  stiiutnrss-.     si ie  straightened  a  few  things  on 

the  little  Btand;  sli.'  shook  into  Bhape  tin-  cushion  on 

which  Dolores  1     i     .•  ;  then,  still  affecting  i<>  be  busy, 

Bh<  .    which    having   caUL'ht. 

sh<  it  with  her  own  little  black  lashed  him' 

to  the  purpose  of  making  herself  excused  for 
taking  advantage  of  the  young  lady's  fortunate  com- 
ing to  gain  a  r  ■  from  the  mtatn  tongue. 
Wasn '1  she  young  and  strong  and  t'n-^h  to  the  task? 

Wouldn't  she  DC  willing  with   tie-  old  woman  a 

bit  and        ■  the  others  a  ret  i       she  would, 

humane  ami  Christian  girl.  And  Nora  softly 
vanished  through  the  door  to  her  own  room,  closing 
it  after  her  all  hut  a  crack  which  slender  reservation 
r<  d  her  unforgotten  responsibility  as  a  qui 

"Dolores  i<  a  coward!'1  announced  Mi  -  0         me 

»norously,  looking  at  one  door.    "Nora  dor.  ii 't  wi- 
tle  witli  sin  b  ight  I        she  declared,  looking  at 
the   other  door— -and,   after   a   challenging   look   all 

rand  the  room,  lapsed  into  a  brown  study. 

There  \       -  chair  with  a  hard.  Btraight,  high  back 
of  puritanical  look,  lor  which  Grace  had  a  liking  be- 


MISS  INGALIS  267 

cause  of  its  low  seat.  This  she  drew  close  to  Aunt 
Marinda's  arm-chair,  placed  herself  under  the  old 
woman's  eyes,  and  laid  a  hand  on  her  knee,  with  a  not 
very  clearly  formed  theory  that  by  mere  sympathetic 
nearness  she  might  woo  her  from  her  mood. 

Aunt  Marinda  looked  at  her  broodingly,  and  de- 
cided to  take  her  into  her  confidence. 

"This  house,"  she  said,  "is  going  straight  to  hell!' 

Grace's  beseeching  gesture  and  murmur  of  pro- 
test did  not  check,  but  fired  her  to  livelier  fulmina- 
tion. 

"Is  there  one  person  in  this  house  who  lives  as  if  he 
had  a  soul  to  save?  Is  there  one  person  who  you  'd 
think  had  ever  heard  of  the  kingdom?"  she  inquired, 
and,  receiving  no  reply,  proceeded  with  fearful  flu- 
ency: "I  'm  not  speaking  of  Brother  Sylvanus;  I  'm 
not  speaking  of  Dolores ;  I  'm  not  speaking  of  Nora — 
though  if  they  are  n't  careful  they  '11  land  in  hell  too. 
I  'm  speaking  of  Jesse's  tribe.  They  've  builded  them 
temples  in  groves  on  high  places  to  false  gods,  and  de- 
served the  Lord's  curse.  Behold!  they've  let  the 
cares  of  this  world,  the  deceitfulness  of  riches,  like 
thorns  and  weeds,  choke  the  good  seed  that  is  spoken 
of  in  the  parable.  ...  I  don 't  see  what  they  're  com- 
ing to  ! "  she  dropped  from  the  biblical  into  the  vernacu- 
lar. "I  don't  see  what  they  're  coming  to!  To  eat 
and  drink  and  dress  up,  turn  night  into  day  and  day 
into  night,  with  theaters  and  dancing  and  feasting — 
it  's  all  they  seem  to  live  for,  and  I  'm  like  a  lonely 


268  MISS  INGALIS 

sparrow  on  the  b<  >p,  preaching,  preaching!  'Fli 

m  the  wrath  to  conic!     Flee  from  the  wrath  to 

:ii«l  it  does  n  "t  do  a  pari icle  o  1 ! ' 

( ir;ir  on  of  one  of  her  hands,  and  bj  ■ 

irning  pressure  tried  to  quiet  fa         But  the  gentle 
otacl   had   mi  i        •    beyond   making  the  <»1«1  lady 
more  exactly  aware  of  tin-  personality  of  her  listener. 

"I    know,    I  she  said.   "I    know    it    looks   to 

me  t*«>lks  -maybe  it  da  vou     as  if  I   must   be 

to  have  tl  when  I  can't  keep  from  coming 

out  with  what  I  keep  inside  of  me  the  rest  of  the  tin 

But  it  piles  up.  it  piles  up.  till  it  i  my  throat 

and   chokes  Hi''.      Why    isn't    it    my  dutl    as   much 

thi  old  t<>  warn  these  people  in  the  name 

the  I--:'        I »'  ■}    ' '  ■  to  listen.     They 

run  the  moment  I  begin.     And  what  I  tell  them  is  true 
1.    They  're  going  the  broad  v.  perdi- 

tion, everj   on<  hem.  y  don't  care  for  any- 

thing in  the  world,  that  I  can  see,  but  just  the  thin 
this  world.     And  it  's  the  deceitfulness  of  rich< 
that  lias  done  it.  Grade.'      She  had  an  effect  again  of 
taking   I  into  her  confident        ' '  The  trouble  I 

is  with  working  bo  hard  for  money  that  your  whole 
it;  then,  after  «_r •  * t r i 1 1 «_r  the  money,  you 

1  big  and  important  for  having  got   it  ;  it  looks  lar 

tn  ymi,  and  you  l«K»k  large  to  yourself  because  of  it ; 
you  put  it  before  everything  else;  till,  when  it  comi 
to  the  choice  between  money  and  doing  right,  between 
money  and  the  good  of  your  soul,  you  choose  money 


MISS  INGALIS  269 

every  time.  I  'd  like  to  smash  their  golden  calf  for 
them!"  she  exclaimed  truculently,  tightening  her  fist 
into  hammer  shape. 

Grace,  to  divert  her,  used  the  magic  of  a  name. 

"Your  brother  Jesse,"  she  began — "your  brother- 
Jesse,  the  crayon  portrait  in  the  drawing-room  shows 
that  he  was  a  very  fine  man — a  man,  I  should  say,  of 
very  fine  character.     I — I   like  to  think  of  him ;   I 
should  like  to  hear  more  about  him." 

But  the  old  lady  disappointingly  shook  her  head, 
and  looked  sternly  despondent. 

"No!"  she  said,  with  firm  justice.  "He  was  a  fine 
man  at  the  beginning.  Jesse  was  as  good  a  boy  as 
ever  lived.  But  the  root  of  all  the  evil  in  this  house 
was  in  him.  He  was  the  first  to  get  caught  by  the  lust 
for  money-making.  He  grew  proud  of  what  he  'd  ac- 
complished all  by  himself,  forgetting  it  was  part  the 
Lord  helped  him,  and  part  the  devil  set  up  riches  for 
his  temptation.  And  then  he  went  and  married  Inez 
Maria.     After  that  there  was  no  hope." 

"She  died  when  Clarence  was  a  baby,"  said  Grace 
tentatively,  invincibly  curious  to  hear  more  of  that 
Inez  Maria  whose  dark  eyes  in  the  crayon  portrait 
hanging  beside  the  portrait  of  Jesse  reminded  her  of 
Theresa's. 

"Yes,  too  late  to  do  any  good !"  Aunt  Marinda  fol- 
lowed on  vengefully.  "She  ought  to  have  died  before 
she  brought  her  streak  of  black-haired  bandit  blood 
into  the  honest  and  upright  Overcome  blood.     Where 


<>  MISS  [NGALIS 

sh<       '    it   from   I   don't  know.     A   mean  character. 

While  she  lived  we  «li<l  n't  get  an  awful  lot  of  good  of 
being  •'        'a  brothers  and  sister,  but  after  she  died 

li«»  made  up  for  it.     He  t  1  i < » n <_r  1  i t  a  heap  of  his  natural 

kin.      Be  had  Ufl  Come  and  live  with  him;  he  w  m1 

toi        Brother  J        thought  a  heap  of  his  only  sister, 

and  was  proud  to  Bhow  it ;  and  it  's  1 suae  of  him  a 

g 1  deal  that  I  lid  i  up  here  when  I  feel  them 

all  going  wrong  downstairs— all  his  children  and  chil- 
dr         children,  going  as  wn>rr_r  as  wrong  fan   I 
They  're  a  different  Bort  <»t'  young  people  from  what 
ur  youth.    They  have  no  respect  for  the 
old.  no  inything ;  tin  .•         do  mind  I 

re  about  doing  r i lt  1 1 1      with  their  in- 
•.'Mt    low-cut   fir  and   rod   bair- ribbons   and   nn- 

Uy  bedizenini         Mat. -rial  things,  I  heard  a  min 
ter  call  them  once— material  things,  thai  's  all  th< 
think  about    'l'"  !!•'  comfortable,  to  dress  vain,  to  eat 
rich,  make  a  show,  ha\  I  tin.  the  flesh, 

and  their  immortal  souls    go  ahead  as  if  they  had  n't 

got   an.\ 

Aunt  Marinda."  —Or  'id, — 

3  change  with  time  passing,  and  tl         mg  p< 
pie  .1  knnw.  are  not  tin-  same  as  you  remem- 

ber.    But  pert  ime  of  them  about  the  san 

thing  tially,  only  they  h.        i  different  way  <>\' 

shorn ing  it. " 

1     icie,  don't  try  to  turn  me  away  from  anger; 

don't  try  tn  ■  hem  ;  don't  think  you  know  het4 


MISS  INGALIS  $71 

than  I."  Aunt  Marinda  stiffened  to  grimness.  "I 
sit  here,  and  it  comes  up  to  me  like  the  reek  of  some- 
thing rotting — all  the  wickedness  in  this  house. 
Down  below  me  there  are  liars,  and  blasphemers,  and 
extortioners,  and  oppressors  of  the  poor, ' '  she  enumer- 
ated with  vim, ' '  and  robbers,  and  adulterers,  and  mur- 
derers! Everything  except  pickpockets  and  dese- 
crators  of  graves!  And  I  'm  not  sure  even  of  that. 
Jesse  Black,  or  his  brother  Ked  either,  would  dese- 
crate a  grave  in  a  minute,  or  pick  a  pocket,  if  they 
happened  to  want  to  and  it  was  so  they  could  escape 
the  law. 

' '  You  need  n  't  wonder  to  hear  me  talk  so  strong, 
and  call  them  names  like  murderers  and  generation 
of  vipers.  I  know  what  I  'm  talking  about.  Those 
two  and  Lonzo  have  blood  on  their  heads,  as  sure  as 
Cain.  Their  brother  Miles  would  be  alive  to-day  if  it 
wasn't  for  them.  I  mean  it.  Don't  let  anybody  de- 
ceive you.  They  wanted  to  make  him  sign  a  docu- 
ment that  he  wasn't  willing  to  sign.  Brother  Jesse, 
so  's*to  keep  the  business  together,  left  all  so  no  one 
could  act  for  himself,  but  they  had  to  agree.  So  they 
had  to  get  Miles 's  signature  before  they  could  go 
ahead,  and  he  held  out.  They  knew  he  had  heart 
trouble;  they  knew  they  'd  no  business  to  worry  or 
frighten  him.  If  there  was  one  thing  Miles  was 
frightened  of,  it  was  of  being  frightened.  And 
that  's  what  they  played  upon,  making  believe  to  be 
just  fooling.     You  could  hear  them  laugh  to  the  top 


MISS  INGALIS 

of  the  houi       I  had  my  legs  then,     l  went  hall  wag 

ah  tin-  stairs  to  Listen  and  try  to  make  out  what  it 
was  all  about  They  <li<ln't  frighten  him  into  sign- 
ing, but  they  did  fuss  him  int<>  a  heart-spell. 

"<>im'  moment  you  could  hear  their  coarse  rack 
down  in  tl  >m  they  call  the  den     tl         rt  moment 

it  was  Bt  ill  as  d<  ath.     I  ran  down  I  •      Btaii 

and  bo  did  I  tolorea,  w  bo  d  been  li^- 
was  lying  on  the  carpet,  and  bis  tin-..'  brothers  were 
inding  round,  not  much  at  that  |  mo- 

ot.   'I'li« ;    *d  <l        for  Miles ;  th<  r  c  »uld  d  't 

bring  him  out   of  it.     You  M  ht   that 

the  result  i»f  their  wicked  under  the 

<  \  es  m  •'  hi  art.     But  I 

\  .•!•  beard  any  one  <<>  the  n  take  anj  blame ;  I  oei 
saw  any  t'rnr  p  repentaii         Tl  I  it 

nothing  udent,  and  did  d  t  let  it  both*        eir 

nsciei  I   don't   know  >ublii] 

much  about   that     about   tl,  ening  <»f  heart  of 

.'■  ight  «in  ni\  t  ion.     I  don 't  know 

l»nt  it  was  that.'1 

<ir  !   buried   her  face   in   her  hands.     Aunt 

Marinda'fl  I   upon  her,  u        ing;  hut 

at'  me  minut       ;i»-  pictu  etrated,  stir- 

ring wondei  doubts  in  Aunt   Marinda's 

mind.     The  wind  of  inspiration,  tin-  accumulated  p 
sion,  that  made  tl  intrywomau  periodi- 

cally violent  and  voluble,  was  dying  down.     I.  •  •  •  k i r i lt 
<irare,  she  felt  ui  to  what  she  could  have 


MISS  INGALIS  273 

been  saying  that  should  make  this  child  crouch  and 
shiver  like  one  in  pain.  She  essayed  the  difficult 
business  of  recalling  her  words,  and  during  the  mental 
labor  of  disentangling  the  relations  of  this  thing  to 
that  thing  continued  to  look  at  Grace  with  eyes  of 
compunction  for  having  made  her  feel  bad — the 
flower-sweet  young  girl  with  her  pretty  ways. 

Along  with  the  sorrow  for  having  made  her  feel  bad, 
there  was  in  the  increasingly  wistful  withered  face  a 
general  sorrow  for  her  because  she  was  young  and  in- 
experienced, and  would  have  to  encounter  so  many 
troubles,  make  so  many  blunders,  feel  bad  so  many 
times,  before  she  was  an  old  woman  near  her  release. 
They  had  a  great  deal  in  common,  this  veteran  in  life 
and  that  novice,  in  having  one  thing :  at  the  heart  of 
each  nature,  that  mysterious  needle,  wavering  but 
constant,  which  points  always  toward  the  same  star. 
Grace  felt  a  hand  laid  on  her  hair. 

"You  feel  bad,  because  you  're  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried to  Red,"  Aunt  Marinda  said  in  her  simple  cus- 
tomary way.  " Perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  have  talked  as 
I  did.  I  had  forgotten,  when  I  did  it.  But  now  it  's 
done,  I  'm  not  sorry  I  told  you.  It  's  best  to  know  a 
man  before  you  take  him  for  better,  for  worse.  I  've 
felt  sorry,  each  time  I  've  seen  you,  to  think  of  you 
marrying  Red." 

Grace  had  looked  up,  and  exhibited  dry  eyes,  after 
all.  She  clasped  Aunt  Marinda 's  hand  again,  lov- 
ingly. 


!■  MISS   [NGALIS 


II.i  i  !.  A u nT  Marinda,  thai  I  am  going 

i 

Aunt  Marinda  mused,  and  while  doing  it  fell  of  her 
bead,  itened  her  cap,  and  looked  an  amenable 

Don  Quixote  again,  with  lance  al  i        ifter  a  royal 
bout 

"Yes,  I  r ml  t  now.     Dolores  told  me  you  w< 

'  I         to  ur  sister,  and  coming  back  in 

irried 
'  I  am  '-..  A  ant  Marinda.     1  am  d  I 

to  marry  Red.     I  don't  wanl  to  talk  about  my 
I   !  before  I  h( 

what  j  "u  !  came  up  this  aft 

in  t  >  bid  3  ou  it  might  be  the  only 

I    should    li.r.  I    want    vmi    to    know.    Aunt 

Marinda,  tl  it  1  I    fe  appreciated  you,  and  that  I  shall 

•  many  thing  ••  Baid  to  me 
which  will  1                                  h.     I   will  read  my 

i  want 
'* T  I f  j ou  remember  it 

God's  \  t  t        inl  to        I  it.  'II 

•  it  '11  grow  to  1"-  your  gn  m- 
\i:«l  3  "ii  'r  marr  R<  1.  did  you 
A d  !  3 1  •!                               mi  ii-         jood  and 

all?     Well,  well,  this  is  nev        I    Imp.-  yn\i  aren't 
having  any  big  1.-  about  it,  Gracie,  a 

Though  I  'in  aorry  if  you  are,  1  can't  help 

glad,  too.     You  ':      •    •  b  I    ' ter  man." 
"T!  thing    I    want    to   Bay   about    it.    Aunt 


MISS  INGALIS  275 

Marinda.  I  just  want  to  talk  with  you  for  a  little 
while  about  other  things." 

As  if  in  search  of  a  fresh,  unrelated  subject,  Grace 
let  her  eyes  roam  around  the  room;  or  she  might  have 
been  taking  that  circular  look  with  a  view  to  impress- 
ing on  her  mind  for  remembrance  the  things  she  was 
perhaps  seeing  for  the  last  time :  the  stuffed  dog  on 
top  of  the  wardrobe,  the  copper  warming-pan  in  the 
corner,  the  box  for  firewood  pasted  over  with  bright 
pictures.  When  she  spoke,  however,  it  was  not  clear 
that  she  had  been  doing  anything  but  summon  up  the 
special  kind  of  courage  needed  to  ask  an  unusual 
question. 

"You  have  lived  so  long,  and  seen  so  much — 
thought  so  much,  too,"  she  fumbled  for  a  beginning. 
"You  are  very  wise — I  feel  that  you  are.  I  feel  as 
if  there  were  many  things  you  could  tell  me  that 
would  help  me,  if  I  only  had  the  sense  to  ask  them. 
There  is  one  thing  particularly  that  you  could  tell  me, 
perhaps.  There  is  a  passage  in  the  Bible — you  who 
have  read  the  Bible  so  constantly,  and  meditated  upon 
it — there  is  a  passage  that  I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
what  you  think  of.  It  is  this :  '  I  have  been  young, 
and  now  am  old ;  yet  have  I  not'seen  the  righteous  for- 
saken, nor  his  seed  begging  bread/  Haven't  you, 
Aunt  Marinda,  ever  seen  the  seed  of  the  righteous,  the 
children  of  just  people,  brought  to  where  they  were 
forced  actually  to  beg  their  bread?  It  seems  so  un- 
likely, somehow,  that  because  your  father  was  a  good 


(i  MISS  [NGALIS 

man  you,  as  a   reward   for  his  deeds,   ihoilld   be  Saved 

from  the  dreadfulness  of  having  to  beg.  if  a  person 
could  believe  the  Bible  absolutely,  and  feel  that  eon- 
Bdence  when  he  had  to  sel  out  alone,  for  [nstanc 

without   money,  without   knowing  in  the  least   what   he 

was  going  to  do  next,  oh,  bow  differently  he  would 

el,  how  wonderful  it  would  b<         What  do  you  think 

iiit  it.  Aunt  Marind  "I  have  been  young,  and 
now  am  old  :  yet  have  1  not  seen  the  righteous  for- 
saken, nor  his  seed  begging  bread.1     I   «1  give  an; 

thing  to   know." 

Tin'  old  woman  appeared  for  a  space  to  be  thinking. 
Perplexity  grew  in  her  face  if  from  a  difficulty 
in  remembering,  or  concentrating  her  mind.  An  un- 
usual effort  of  brain  was  reflected  on  her  forehead. 
She  said  at  last,  honesth  : 

■ 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  noticed,  Gracie,  whether  the 

paup-  ra  I  've  known  ahout  had  g  od  fathen  The 
folks  w  ho  were  on  the  town  v  aostly  a  pretty  shift- 
let  r.   Which   sle.ws   they   hadn't    1 n    brought    Up 

right — and  that  wasn't  to  their  parents1  credit.  But 
I  don't  know.  Gracie;  I  don't  know  from  personal 
experien        This  I  do  know"    her  voice  reacquired 

•lie  of  its  earlier  vigor:  "that   if  you  Serve  God  you 

i   trust    Him.      We  Vc  'Jot   to   trust    Him,   and    take 

what  He  sends  in  the  right  spirit,  as  being  what 

good  for  Ufl 

'"1  know.  Aunt  Marinda.  I  know  that  's  the  right 
way  of  Looking  at  it — for  religious  people.     Hut  it 


MISS  IXGALIS  277 

dreadful,  all  the  same — it  's  dreadful  to  be  altogether 
without  money." 

She  covered  her  face  again,  as  if  to  shut  out  a  fear- 
ful prospect,  or  to  shut  in  what  further  there  was  to 
say  on  the  subject,  and  keep  a  hold  on  herself  until 
this  wave,  too,  of  panic  and  woe  should  have  passed. 

Aunt  Marinda  felt  herself  as  not  having  been  ade- 
quate, as  not  having  given  the  proper  comfort.  She 
groped  for  some  way  of  meeting  the  necessity  of  the 
hour  more  handsomely.  Affection  went  out  from  her 
toward  that  young  brown  head  bowed  upon  slender 
young  hands  which,  she  had  an  uncomfortable  sus- 
picion, smothered  tears.  In  search  of  ideas,  she  re- 
volved and  then  repeated  aloud  the  child's  last  words: 

"  It  's  dreadful  to  be  without  money.  Yes,  so  it  is. 
Who  are  you  thinking  of  so  situated,  and  feeling  bad 
about  it?     It  isn't  you,  Gracie,  that  needs  money?" 

Grace  moved  her  head  in  a  manner  that  could  not 
be  interpreted  as  meaning  yes  or  meaning  no.  The 
first  tremble  of  a  glimmering  current  of  understand- 
ing was  yet  established  between  her  and  Aunt 
Marinda. 

"Is  that  what  you  have  on  your  mind — that  you 
need  money?  How  does  it  come ?  I  thought  you  had 
plenty." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Marinda,  I  hadn't  any  thought  of  ask- 
ing you  when  I  came  up  here.  But  if  you  could — oh, 
if  you  just  could,  without  telling  anybody,  let  me 
have  enough  to  pay  my  expenses  down  to  Welaka, 


MISS   [NGALIS 

where  my  Bister  li\'  I  did  have  some  money — 
plenty  ;  bol  it  has  been  stolen.  No,  I  don't  mean  that, 
but —  [f  yon  could  lei  me  have  forty  or  fifty  dollai 
in  a  few  days  I  would  return  it  -and  it  would  make 
ich  a  differen  to  me!  I  could  almosl  believe  that 
miracles  were  worked  for  tin-  Bake  of  the  righteous,  to 

ep  their  children  from  having  t«»  beg  their  bread. 
My  father  "1 !" 

■  I  .1  dn  it  in  a  minute,  Qracie;  1  M  do  it  in  a  min- 
ute, 1 1 1 « » : i _r 1 1  I  don't  seem  t<>  understand  bow  il  es 
that  you—  No  matter,  for  the  present.  But  1 
haven't  got  any  monej  \><  u  I  never  have,  though 
1  '  ot  quite  >od  deal  in  the  bank  and  in  the 
business.     They  t.  :  my  money  for  me;  th< 

draw  out  my  1  money  ami  they  pay  Nora's  \\ 

1  ha>  ••  n  it  of  money  by  inc. ' 

Never  mind,  then,  dear  Aunt    Ma  rind       Thank 

you  ,iu-  iUCh.      I  that    I  i.      1 1  won't 

make  any  differen  1  Buppo         I  shall  have 

to  launch  my  little  hark  on  an  unknown  sea  in  the 
dark,  in  any 

* '  I  »ook   hei       l  have  n  't    any    money,   hut 

I  \ e  got  somethin  .in-'  I  for  \ 

•ii  it.    Now,  list*  n.  ami  doo  t  ma 
any   noi  Sh  red    ber   voice   to   ,i    wrhis] 

"Yon  Lr<»  ami  look  under  the  bed,  -lift  the  iralam 
1  can  see  too,  and  direct  you,     and  you  dl  see  plenty 
i.l  thing       Tl.  i      nit  you  to  pick  out 


MISS  INGALIS  279 

is  a  good-sized  green  cardboard  box.  You  pull  that 
out  and  undo  it,  and  you  11  see  in  it  a  brown  cedar- 
wood  box  that  was  a  cigar-box.     Bring  it  to  me." 

So  utterly  had  Grace  a  moment  past  given  up  the 
expectation  of  anything  fortunate  happening  to  her 
in  this  house,  that  at  the  sudden  stepping  into  an  old- 
fashioned  story  book,  with  its  fairy  godmother  and 
fulfilment  of  forlorn  hopes,  the  very  quickening  of 
her  heart  warned  her  to  wait  before  she  rejoiced,  and 
make  sure  the  treasure  was  not  a  fusty  nut.  Her 
hands  trembled  as  she  raised  the  valance,  exposing 
just  such  a  still-life  composition  as  the  old  country- 
woman's words  had  evoked.  The  apple-green  box 
was  easy  to  find.  With  fingers  clumsy  from  their 
very  eagerness,  Grace  at  last  had  the  dusty  string  un- 
knotted, and  lifted  the  cover. 

It  was  packed  full  with  rolls  of  dress-pieces,  balls 
of  worsted,  bundles  of  newspaper  clippings  and  tissue- 
paper  patterns,  a  collection  of  corks,  indescribable 
miscellanies — but  the  cedar  box  was  plainly  in  sight. 
This  she  brought  to  the  waiting  old  lady,  who  pulled 
off  the  flimsy  yellow  ribbon  holding  it  shut,  and 
turned  back  the  hinged  lid,  faintly  fragrant  still  of 
cedar  and  Havana  tobacco.  This  box  also  was 
crammed  with  things:  the  eye  was  first  caught  by  a 
glass  knob  with  a  bright  flower  embedded  in  it,  like 
a  fly  in  amber,  fit  to  charm  the  eyes  of  a  child; 
caught,  next  in  order,  for  its  strangeness,  by  a  shape- 


30  MISS   ING  VLIS 

less  lump  of  blackened  metal,  which  Aunt  Marinda, 
i'< 'i-Lj'-t t i iilt  the  more  important  thing,  lifted  and  lin- 
gered w  it  h  curiosity. 

'We've  never  been  sure  what   it  was,  but   Ji 
thought  it  was  the  old  sugar-bowl  melted  down  in  the 
fire  when  our  bouse  burned  to  the  ground.     He  picked 
it    up  "Ut   of  the   roil  She   was  lapsing  into  a 

dream  of  past  things,  but  recalled  herself.  "Now, 
this  is  what  I  want  you  I 

It  was  a  round  wooden  pill-boi  of  an  old  kind  with 
a   faded   inscription  <m  a  time-yellowed   label.    Tin* 
lueal  -   Aunt   Marinda  screwed  it  off;  a 

of  pink  cotton-wool  was  reveal*  With  two 
brown  fingers  she  pinched  up  i  I  of  this,  and  her 
face  broke  into  I         incongruou        trkle  of 

w  bite  fire  that  ensued. 

".!•  it   to  me,'    Bhe  said,  taking  out  the 

flashing  brooch— "the   first   birthday   I   had   after   I 

Die  t"  live  with  him.  I  did  n't  want  him  to;  I  said 
it  wasn't  appropriate  for  d  But  he  said  it  w 
and  besides,  he  said,  it  was  n't  just  a  p  if  jewelry, 
it  was  a  piece  of  property.  The  value  of  diamonds 
doesn't  vary,  he  said,  and  these  are  d  one 
they  're  the  real  Brazilian.  You  can  turn  then  into 
money  any  time  you  want  j  id.     I  were  it  a  few 

tii  i  please  him.  Theresa  seemed  to  think  I  ought 
to  gn  e  it  tn  her  after  my  misfortune :  then  Bhe  wanted 
me  tn  give  it  to  Pinky  on  her  twenty-firet  birthday; 
then  she  wanted  me  just  to  let  the  family  dress  up  in 


MISS  IXGALIS  281 

it  once  in  a  while.  But  I  don't  see  it.  When  I  'hi 
gone  will  be  time  enough.  So  I  keep  it  where  the 
sight  of  it  won't  be  a  temptation  to  anybody. 

"Now,  Gracie,  you  take  this  and  raise  money  on  it. 
I  don't  know  just  how  much  it  's  worth.  Jesse  did  n't 
know,  either;  it  was  all  he  could  collect  for  a  bad 
debt.  Mind  you,  I  don't  give  you  this  breast-pin;  I 
want  you  to  give  it  in  security  for  a  loan,  and  then 
you  send  the  receipt  to  me,  and  I  '11  make  them  re- 
deem it.  They  '11  be  mad,  I  guess;  but  I  'm  not 
afraid  of  them,  single  or  in  a  regiment!" 

The  white  fires  were  again  extinguished  under  a 
pinch  of  pink  cotton;  Aunt  Marinda  screwed  down 
the  lid  with  a  squeak,  and  handed  the  box  to  Grace. 

You  put  that  in  your  pocket,"  she  said  briskly. 

Oh,  Aunt  Marinda!"  Grace  was  pressing  the  be- 
wildered benefactress  in  her  arms, — but  regardfully, 
so  as  not  to  break  her, — crushing  a  smooth  teary 
cheek  against  the  country  cheek  that  would  carry  its 
weather-brown  to  the  grave.  "You  will  never  know 
what  you  have  done  for  me !  God  bless  you !  God 
bless  you,  for  your  dear,  dear  kindness.  I  will  make 
sure  you  get  back  your  brooch,  never  fear — without 
any  of  them  knowing  about  it,  either.  I  will  find  a 
way.  All  there  is  now  is  to  be  very,  very  careful, 
dear,  and  to  remember  and  not  to  say  a  single  word 
about  this  to  anybody." 


a, 


I  BAPTEB  XXIV 

E.\  KI. I  EB  than  usual  in  the  morning,  Grace  w 
preparing  t<»  ^r<»  out    Sita  asked,  as  if  nothing 
could  have  1  ► « -  *  -  r  i  more  natural : 
"  W 1 .  1 1 ' ' 

"<  l  it,  Sita-  -simply  out,  for  the  fresh  air." 
"I  guess  I  '11  come  to  (its  Bweetly.    "Do 

i  mil,        I  shall  have  ao  fe^i   more  chances  to  | 
anywhere  with  you." 

■•Hurry  and  put  oo  your  I  I  Qrace,  with 

equal  s* 

At  the  first  post  b       Grao   shipped  a  letter  oul  of 
the  book  Bhe  was  returning  to  the  public  Library,  and 
pushed  it  under  the  metal  flap 
"Whal  was  ths        inquired  Sita  in  astonishment. 
"Whal  did  I  drop  into  the  letter  box,  do  yon  n 
A  ham  sandwich,  Sit 
"  When  did  vim  write  it t"  Sit        wind-eyed  stare, 
p  abused  air  and  tone,  were  lit  to  engender  mirth. 
izing   S  hand,    Grace,    with    unprecedented 

1  riskness,  pulled  her  along  at  a  run  for  the  res!  of  the 
block,  in  an  exuberance  of  high  Bpirits  that  made  her 

dance   and    spark!' 

"1  will  tell  you.     I  waited  until  you   were  asleep, 

282 


MISS  INGALIS  283 

Sita ;  then  I  crept  out  of  bed  so  softly  you  would  n  't 
feel  me — it  took  me  five  minutes.  I  went  to  my  desk  in 
the  dark,  I  felt  for  the  things  I  was  going  to  need, — 
that  took  me  ten  minutes, — and  I  carried  them  into 
the  sewing-room.  There,  by  the  light  of  those  little 
candles  I  use  to  heat  sealing-wax,  I  wrote  a  mysteri- 
ous and  interesting  letter — the  same  you  have  just 
seen  me  post.  And  isn't  it  hard  to  think,  Sita,  that 
you  can  never  know  what  was  in  it ! " 

"What  was  in  it?"  asked  Sita,  unabashed.  "I 
don't  believe  a  word  you  say.     Who  was  it  to?' 

"I  'm  going  to  let  you  guess.  I  must  have  a  little 
fun  with  you  while  I  can;  for  our  days  together,  as 
you  say,  are  numbered.  And,  Sita,  since  I  'm  going 
away  so  soon,  and  the  good  influence  I  have  had  on 
you  is  about  to  cease,  I  feel  as  if  I  ought,  like  a  good 
older  sister,  to  condense  in  a  precept  or  two  all  that  my 
example  might  have  still  done  toward  forming  your 
little  character  and  improving  your  little  manners. 
Yes  ?  You  are  a  nice  girl,  Sita,  in  a  lot  of  ways.  But 
you  don't  pay  enough  attention  to  the  graces — and 
shall  I  say  the  amenities? — of  life.  For  instance: 
you  ought  not  to  ask  a  person  point-blank — biff! 
bang! — what  was  in  a  letter,  or  whom  was  she  writ- 
ing to?  It  isn't  done  in  the  best  circles.  Will  you 
remember,  dear  little  friend?" 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,   Grace  Ingalis?' 
sputtered  Sita,  "What  makes  you  so  queer,  all  at 
once?" 


284  MISS  [N6ALIS 

But  Qi        barsl  on1  laughing;  and  Sita,  willing  to 
the  admonishment  just  received,  laughed 

with   lit-r. 

Thej  had  retired  to  their  room  for  the  night,  wl 
.  seizing  the  instant  of  an  al  f  Sita  'a, 

wiit  with  Furtive  hi  raise  one  of  the  window- 

shades  and  Btand  at   the  open  window.     Her  ln-art 

thumping,     she  lifted  her  arms  to  her  head,  i 
if  in  the  •         I  taking  out  the  comb  to  n  her 

r,  and  assum<  d  against  ,;  e  yellow  shim 
lit  chamber  the  shape,  for  a  moment,  of  the  classic 
amphora. 

Alin<  i.  down  in  til 

Tl  :    a   man   with  a 

blazing  un  a  hands  curvi  •! 

liki  lis,  and  i  lately  Lighted  and 

darkened  as  he  puffed  a*  th<  which  with  his 

Lips  he  held  in  the  flame.  •   lighted,  the 

match  went  init ;  bul   I  .  with  the  illumined  fa 

printed  oo  her  brain,  right   fa  ••.  ill, 

r  a  moment,  at  the  darkly  outlined  shape  it  had  ■ 
turned  to  be.     After  a  rapid  hut  careful  iring 

with  her  eye  of  the  distance  between  it  and  her,  she 
flung  toward   it,  outside  the  radii  i  iting  the 

I »  i   from   ihr  Bidi  '.a  Bmall  wh 

■ 

package  which  had  sufficient  weight  to  lend  it  speed 

and  keep  it  true  to  direction — tl         ight,  in  fact,  of 
.  old-fashioned  wooden  pill-box  containing  an  old 


MISS  INGALIS  285 

brooch.     The  beats  of  her  heart  were  smothering  her. 

"What  '&  the  matter?"  asked  Sita,  who  had  opened 
the  door  in  time  to  see  the  motion  of  Grace's  arm. 
"Why  have  you  put  the  blind  up?  What  are  you 
standing  at  the  window  for?  What  did  you  throw 
out?" 

Grace,  still  in  the  tremor  and  excitement  of  her  suc- 
cess so  far  with  this  incredible  adventure,  and  fairly 
dazed  by  the  wonder  of  it  being  she, — she,  having  ad- 
ventures, conceiving  and  carrying  out  intricate  con- 
spiracies,— turned  to  Sita  with  those  same  dancing 
and  sparkling  eyes,  malicious,  triumphant,  teasing,  of 
earlier  in  the  day. 

"Incorrigible  Sita!"  she  cried.  "Do  you  want  to 
know  what  I  was  doing?  What  do  you  suppose?  I 
picked  up  the  fruit-skins  that  you,  with  careless 
charm,  leave  lying  around  on  my  half  of  the  bureau, 
and  threw  them  out  where  they  won't  mess  me  up. 
No !  listen !  here  's  a  better  one :  There  was  an  enor- 
mous spider,  black,  with  hairy  legs,  Sita,  the  kind  you 
don't  love,  crawling  on  the  bed.  I  caught  it  under  a 
piece  of  tissue  paper  and  threw  it  out.  Or,  listen, 
listen — this  too  is  good :  I  threw  pennies  wrapped  in  a 
piece  of  paper  to  the  organ-man  with  the  monkey. 
No,  that  isn't  so  good,  because  of  the  time  of  day. 
Sita,  I  will  drop  my  mask  and  confess  my  guilty  se- 
cret: I  threw  a  white  rose  to  a  troubadour  out  there 
serenading  me.  You  thought  it  was  the  car-brakes 
screeching — it  was  his  romantic  voice ! ' ' 


286  MISS  ENGALIS 

'Wha1        the  matter  with  you  to-day,  Grace   In- 

* 

gali        I   don'1   belli       you   threw   anything  at   all. 

I'm  u hat  mas  l  so  q  r  ■  r,  ;ill  a1  on©       Fou  make 

in.'  want  to  shake  von  : ' ' 

sita  grasped  I       ■•■  by  the  shoulders,  and  did  shake 
her,  gazing  at  ;  •  -r  meanwhile  with  •.       in  which  re 
•t.    suspicion,    I         I,    were    mingled    with    ■ 
grudging  lov<     mellow  calf         »,   whosi     - 
mained  obtui         d  while  she  did  her  best  to  sharpen 
it  and         cfa  w ith  it. 

"Funny  sit..  '  cried  Grace,  and  gave  her  a  sudden 
ki^  on  the  cheek — genuine-  to  reward  her  for  not 
being  any  «•!■  r,  also  to  make  tiny  amends  to  her 
for  unreturo  :tion. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ON  the  Friday  evening  distinguished  as  Grace's 
last  evening,  a  goodly  number  of  relatives  and 
friends  came  to  say  good-by ;  and  the  occasion, 
aided  by  Theresa's  social  spirit  and  well  supplied  cup- 
boards, took  on,  as  did  so  often  those  informal  Over- 
come gatherings,  the  aspect  of  a  party.  The  effulgent 
yellow  pearls  were  all  in  service ;  music  flew  from  the 
piano  at  which  confident  amateurs  succeeded  one  an- 
other. Around  the  glass  doors,  the  older  men  smoked. 
The  older  women  sat  in  the  gallery  and  overlooked 
the  fun  on  the  floor,  where  things  became  livelier  and 
livelier  as  the  evening  wore  on,  someone  having  sug- 
gested a  cake-walk,  for  which  someone  else  put  up  a 
prize;  after  which  there  was  a  varied  exhibition  of 
home  talent,  a  good  deal  of  extreme  and  foolish  cari- 
cature, but  some  good  comedy  too,  amid  a  chorus  of 
laughter. 

The  scene  was  to  Grace  like  something  on  the  stage : 
already  the  cleft  that  there  would  be  on  the  morrow 
seemed  to  lie  between  it  and  her.  A  hard  excitement 
burned  her  nerves  and  dulled  her  to  all  but  the  im- 
portance of  a  few  preeminent  things:  to  appear  as 
usual,  to  observe  closely  and  not  seem  to  be  doing  so, 
to  watch  the  time,  to  watch  for  the  chance. 

287 


lJs8  Ml  iUS 

They  had  all         .  in  their  way  \  I  friendly, 

the  r  [uaintanc  - ; 

iiiLr  her,  1  .king 

Light  of  the  depart ure  in  vi  di  tanl  r 

turn.     She  had  taken  it  all  with  a  »t- 

anc 

Blightly  Boml  hi  am< 

the  3  people,  being  in  her  traveling  dress,  wh 

they  ••         in  their  muslins  h   v 

in  i  this  that  her  trunk  fnr  . 

hut  Bhe  v. . 
charming  in  the  bronze  silk  poplin  intend* 
honeymoon — planned  in  * 

to   be  an   I  in    t1 

efficacy  of  cream;  I  artful  eon- 

st8  oi  enliven  brown.     No 

question  hut  Bhe  was  of 

her  eyes,  1  ile,  '•••ill    1 

ition  4n-niL-!:!  fr  -Mi  the  if;-  ing  touch 

haggard              I  amily  had 
latelj   remarked  upon. 

She   hail   not  willing  t.»  join    in   the  ins 

Id  that  it  w 
too  warm,  that  1mm-  .'  for  it,  thai  1. 

shoes  vi  heavj  ;  to  ai         r  thai  i  as  *  ired 

and  musi  trj  the  nexl  day.     SI  • 

with   Mrv   AJonzo,   anally,  and  i  down   at   the 

eue  as  if  from  a  th  Mrs.  -  a 

and  not  imp         it  talker;  one  could  abstract 


MISS  INGALIS  289 

one's  mind  without  danger  when  she  was  once 
launched,  if  her  subject  failed  to  stimulate.  Her 
second  son  had  returned  from  his  wedding  journey, 
and  the  mother  was  giving  the  story  of  his  affair  from 
the  beginning:  her  own  first  opinion  of  the  young 
lady,  her  early  objections,  Len's  knowledge  of  his  own 
mind,  her  gradual  coming  round,  the  beatific  ending. 
Her  steady  trickle  lulled  one  like  the  purl  of  a  brook. 
Clarence  came  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  held  out  his  hand 
bluffly  to  Grace,  inviting  her  to  walk  with  him  for  the 
cake.     It  was  the  second  time.     She  shook  her  head. 

"I  should  appear  too  much  of  a  fool.  One  is  the 
worse  fool,  is  n't  one,  for  not  knowing  how  to  make  a 
fool  of  oneself  amusingly?" 

"Oh,  come  on,  Grace!" 

"No.  Go  on,  you,  Clarence,  and  make  an  amusing 
fool  of  yourself  with  another  girl." 

After  a  moment,  in  which  her  attention  had  been 
pointedly  devoted  to  Mrs.  Lonzo,  he  left.  She  had 
in  truth  established  herself  at  Mrs.  Lonzo 's  side  be- 
cause of  Red's  effort  to  waylay  her,  corner  her,  get  a 
moment's  private  audience  from  her.  It  was  among 
her  clearest  purposes  not  to  allow  him  to  accomplish 
this.  They  had  been  conducting  themselves  since 
the  final  break  like  civilized  persons,  keeping  up  the 
right  manner  before  the  others — bandying  as  occa- 
sion rose  their  old  style  of  jest,  touched  with  bitter- 
ness on  his  side,  on  hers  with  irony,  and  on  both  sides 
an  odd  tranquillity. 


m)  ML—  [NGAUS 

'I'll--  excitement  that  p         ed  her  Left  Little  room 

••  ,\u\   feeling  bnl  watchfuln  i      lw.    On.'y 

one  hint  had  she  had  in  three  days  that  her  heart 

Lived.    On  the  night   before,  the  wind   prm-ding  a 

thunder-ahower  had   moaned   round  the  house;  ami 

i  she  Laj  in  the  dark,  nervous  from  lom_r  wakefulness, 

fchonghl  had  Bprung  from  ti  gion  where  we  an- 

Dot  the  conscious  masters :    "It  a  my  soul  wailing  for 

its  Lost  princ  And  then,  from  that  Bame  region: 

i  >r  it  'a   \i  i   I  >vercomi  'a  soul  searching  for  me 
II.  r  flesh  had  crept,  a  wave  of  desire  had  swept  over 
her,  and  she  had  been  near  th<         ay  <>t"  t<  in, 

when  n   "1"  sanity   had  *  *  *  I T   down   Like  a   flashing 

sword  l  ii  her  lost  prince  and  that  Red  Overcome 

of  whom  she  was  coldlj   afraid  d  Ilk--  the  un- 

happy lady  affia  to  the  mysterious  Mr.  Fox  in  the 
eld  tale,  after  sin-  had  i-spifd  t ho  little  Livid  red 
hand  with  its  Load  of  stolen  rings.  .  .  .  Things  of  the 

Qight,  of  the  COmpleJ  and  confused   nature  (.1"  man,  m 

whom  the  schism  i         en  heart  and  brain  can  !•<•  wide, 
between  bouJ  and  fleah  deep.  .  ,  ■  The  return  of  d 
had  mended  it ;  from  tl         jion  where  we  are  the  con 
scions  i:                 ftimss  had  been  expelled.     Ami  now 
she  sat  beside  fcfra  AJonzo,  with  a  deep  Light  in  her 
aalizing  her  sense  of  being  mistreea  of  the  situ- 
ation— oh.  so  much  more  than  anybody  dreamed] 
Theresa  joined  th<       and  fell  to  talking  with  f'ar- 
bout  the  plans  for  the  new  house,  d         ling  the 
merit  s  hard  w Is,  different  kinds  of  "tin- 


MISS  INGALIS  291 

ish."  Grace  withdrew  her  attention  altogether,  to 
penetrate  herself  with  the  thought  that  this  was  her 
last  evening  in  all  her  life  among  these  people,  and  to 
say  good-by  to  them  in  her  mind. 

Rebecca  and  Harvey  were  the  ones  at  the  moment 
parading  before  the  judges — like  peacocks,  like  Car- 
men arm  in  arm  with  her  toreador  on  their  way  to  the 
bull-ring.  Sita  was  at  the  piano,  strumming  over  and 
over,  as  if  for  a  reel,  one  of  the  few  pieces  she  knew 
by  heart,  and  producing  each  time  the  same  false  bass- 
chord.  Zip  and  Bobby  chased  each  other,  with  the 
irrepressible  cries  of  childhood,  as  if  they  had  been  in 
the  school-yard  during  a  recess,  and  their  mother  did 
not  notice  a  noise  to  which  she  was  accustomed ;  they 
were  now  and  then  ordered,  in  a  casual  way,  by  a 
cousin  or  an  aunt,  to  shut  up — but  ineffectively. 

A  veil  of  kindness  rose  between  Grace's  eyes  and 
these  people.  Clutched  by  the  sense,  tragic  in  youth, 
that  she  should  never,  never,  see  them  again,  she  de- 
sired, with  that  disposition  of  hers  to  put  her  little  in- 
ward house  in  order,  to  do  them  greater  justice,  to 
leave  them,  in  any  case,  with  wishes  of  gentle  good 
will.  She  had  said  that  they  were  different  from  her, 
warp  and  woof;  but  human  beings  are  not  different  to 
that  extent  from  one  another.  She  thought  it  a  pity 
that  she  could  not  have  been  patient,  magnanimous. 
But  was  it  not  only  because  she  was  going  away  that 
she  was  willing  to  see  them  in  softer  colors?  For 
nothing  in  the  world,  she  reminded  herself,  would  she 


MISS  INGALIS 

have    remained.     No   matter.     Let   them   prosp.-r, 
ppy,  and  the  light  that  they  Deeded — as  i  rerybody 

-  Light .' — come  to  them  in  it         d  tin. 
Prom  her  place  she  got  a  glimmer  of  the  redness  of 
the  den,  where  a  large  ei        a-shaded  banquet-lamp 

ar  the  door  made  vivid  the  crimson  of  the  carp 
six  years  ago  three  brothers  had         I     "not  laugh- 
ing much  at  that  exact  moment" — around  a  fourth 
brother  sti         d  on  tl  r.  .  .  . 

>w  a  glim]  ild  be  caught  of  Miles'  widow 

I  ar  a  little  table  in  the  drawing*         .  thought- 
fully placing  one  card  beaid<  r  in  a 

e,  in  the  inextinguishable  love  of 
life,  telling  her  own  fortuni       Black  <  i  ••  and 

l  inxo  n       tranquil];  og  their  ci         outside  in 

.  who  1 
.   Ore  to  tind  himself  a  different 

-n  th<  ■   e  oval,  oblivious 

enough,  and   full  Strong,   in   case  Of   memory,  mzn'w  • 

■  importunit 

I [e  * as  talk''     •    the  i  ter-in-law,  the  one 

of  whom  Carrie  had  just  been  telling.  The  young 
wife,  who  very  likely  was  y,  had  excused  herself 
from  taku  -     irt  in  the  fun  below,  on  the  ground 

Prom  tin-  distance  Gn       gol  a  view  of 
Red,  in  perspectii  a  whole,  like  a  pictur       Be 

i    -  thinner;  he  had  lost  his  fine  color.     Poor  Clar 
Be  ;  is  dJ  dreadful  characterizations  of  him  true 

or  aot,  who  could  say  that  he  was  withoul        libilitj 


MISS  INGALIS  293 

And  how  good  to  look  at,  in  that  manifest,  manly- 
way!  Such  a  successful  specimen  of  the  genus  man 
as  he  was!  Well  shaped  head,  well  shaped  every- 
thing, engaging — completely,  even  nobly  a  man,  to 
the  eye — until  you  had  come  to  understand  that  his 
outlook  on  the  opportunities  of  life  was  identical  with 
that  of  beasts,  whose  way  it  is  to  get  what  they  want 
if  they  can  get  it,  and  no  necessity  felt  for  justifi- 
cation. With  this  knowledge,  you  were  enabled  to 
see,  as  she  was  doing  for  the  first  time, — to  see  stamped 
on  him  physically,  marking  his  brow,  a  limitation,  a 
default. 

His  elbow  rested  on  the  railing,  and  his  hand 
stroked  his  mustache — that  masterful  hand  in  whose 
exhibitions  of  strength  she  had  delighted;  that  hand 
so  admirably  formed  by  nature  to  grasp  and  hold  on. 

1 'Uncle  Red  doesn't  let  go,  and  if  it  looks  as  if  he 
were  letting  go,  look  out!  for  he  isn't — then  particu- 
larly he  isn't!'  repeated  Rebecca's  voice  in  her 
brain. 

Grace  rose  to  her  feet  like  one  in  a  dream.  It  was 
the  moment.  Theresa  deep  in  conversation  with  Car- 
rie, Red  absorbed  in  the  youngest  Mrs.  Overcome  and 
not  looking  her  way,  everybody  engrossed  and  gay — 

With  quiet  gait,  though  her  knees  trembled,  she 
with  inconspicuous  presence  glided  behind  the  chairs 
of  Theresa  and  Carrie;  finished,  without  looking  to 
the  right  or  left,  the  half-circle  of  the  gallery;  and 
passed  out  through  the  door  to  the  entrance-hall,  wide 


294  Mis-  [NGAUS 

open,  like  all  the  doors  to-night  in  the  rotunda. 
Quite  empty,  the  hall,— God  be  praised!  and  dim 
tinder  the  single  Lamp  of  colored  glac 

So  empty  and  quiet,  and  everything  apstairs 
quiet,  too  it  almosi  Beemed  as  it'  she  might  safely 
venture  to  creep  to  her  room  and  gel  a  few  tiling, 
si].-  debated  the  poinl  I'm*  half  a  minute;  but,  .it  a 
tiny  sound  from  somewhere  oear,  decided  againal  it. 
and  took  a  hurried  step  or  two  Dearer  the  front  door. 
Then  her  heart  <juit«'  failed,  because  of  the  approach- 
ing muffled  sound  of  feet.    She  Bt 1  still,  to  jud 

whether  they  were  near  enough  already  t«»  make 
it    too    late.     They    were      She    quietly    turned    the 

i  . 

newel  post,  and  pretended  that  she  had  been  Btarting 
ii  | i  the  Btai 

The  i  Red  a  room  opei  i   mddenly,  one 

mi  ii  was  torn  open ;  Eled  stepped  into  the  hall. 

Her  foot  was  on  the  bottom  stair;  she  choked  down 

r  despair  and  smiled. 
v   la  '       he  said.    "1  've  been  trying  all  even- 
ing I  a  word  w  ith  you. 

"  1  am  very  tired,"  she  offered  as  an  explanation  of 
her  withdrawal  from  the  Lights  and  noiaea. 

■*  But  j  "ii  must  n '1  ^r«»  quite  ; 

With  a  stride,  he  so  placed  himself  as  to  shut  off 
her  way  upstair-.  She  as  quicklj  drevi  beyond  arm's 
length  from  him,  and  was  that  much  nearer  the  room 
she  had  just  Left. 

I  Do  the  thing  thai  1  l»>",r  of  you  to  do  I 


MISS  INGALIS  295 

I  pray!  I  entreat!  Come  back  with  ine,  and  let 
them  know  we  've  changed  our  minds,  or  some  cir- 
cumstance has  risen  to  change  our  plans,  and  we  're 
not  leaving  to-morrow  morning,  after  all.  Be  my 
good  girl,  Grace,  and  tell  them;  then  let  all  this  be 
as  if  it  hadn't  been." 

Without  quite  being  humble,  his  voice,  lowered  to 
a  whisper,  was  supplicating;  his  earnestness  was 
compelling.  But  it  did  not  get  past  the  guard  of  one 
who  in  wisdom  and  solemn  forethought  had  stopped 
her  ears  against  all  siren  songs. 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  such  thickness  of  wit  as  he 
persistently  showed  made  her  hopeless,  without  mak- 
ing her  unkind. 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand.  I  don't  seem  able 
to  make  you ! ' ' 

"Grace,  I  will  do  anything  you  say,  anything  you 
want  me  to.  If  ever  a  miserable  offender  loved  a 
girl  and  wanted  her  love —  Just  in  this  one  matter, 
listen  to  me  and  do  as  I  ask  you.  Give  up  going  to- 
morrow, and  you  will  have  no  reason  to  repent;  you 
will  have  a  lamb  in  me — you  will  have  anything  you 
want. ' ' 

' '  But,  Clarence,  the  point  is,  I  can 't  live  near  you ; 
I  can 't  breathe  any  longer.  You  ought  n  't  to  have 
lied  to  me,  you  see.  In  an  atmosphere  of  lies  I  can't 
breathe;  that  's  the  whole  of  it.  I  can't  help  it — I 
am  so  made.     I  can't  live!" 

"You  talk  as  if  everybody  didn't  lie!     Everybody 


•fi  MISS  [NGALIS 

lies,  you  two-days-old  kitten     I  rather  less  than  other 


men. ' 


•  • 


•  •  Nol  everybody.     My  father  i  lied. 

"Don't   expect   me  to  be  like  your   father.     Men 
in  love  are  a  different   animal.     I   had  lived  thirty 

irs,  l  knowin        >u.     Won't   you 

member  it.  and  bold  the  hope  that  your  ideas  will  per 
gradually,  and  I  shall  know  finally  just  what 

you  do  want 

If  you  knew,  Clan  how  much   I   want  to  be 

i— to         up.     Harsh  and  final  judgment! 
ar  nel  folly,  always.     And  I  myself  so  blind, 

full   of   fault  9   what    I    apparently   can't 

make  you  understand:  thai   in  order  to  be  just,  in 
ler  to  do  anything  thai  ia  right  and  real,  I  mu 

first  D6  away  fn  u.      Fou  musl   lei   me  gO. 

11  Elere  jain  at  th(       I  turn  in  the 

road,  t!  P(  Gra  t  a 

it  a  little  I  this  thing 

into  the  right  light.    Thi         ning,  if  you  would  only 

ir  whole  live       We  can  Btill  be 
as  i  appy  :nt  to  be     perfectly  happy,  little 

it  if  you  p  ir  liv<  ruined,- 

they  will  be,  I  warn  you     mine  lura,  you 

well  as  i  it  \\il!  ilt,  your  fault 

■    tirely.     Four  hi 1  be  on  your  own  headl" 

'•So  be  it.  Clan 

"Damnation,    l  Ho^i    can   you   be   ^<>   stub- 

Put  you  in  a  mortar  and  grind  you  with  a 


MISS  INGALIS  £97 

pestle,  you  'd  go  on  saying  the  same  thing!  Don't, 
I  tell  you.  Don't  put  up  this  front  of  blank  wall  to 
me.  I  'm  talking  for  your  good.  Don't  get  me 
where  I  don't  care  what  I  do.  Don't  turn  me  into 
a  devil ! ' ' 

"I  think — I  really  think  it  would  be  better  if  we 
returned  among  the  others.  There  can  be  no  use  in 
our  talking  together,"  she  said,  showing  every  femi- 
nine sign  of  offense  and  fright. 

"No!     Wait!" 

1 '  I  can 't ! '  she  cried  back  from  the  door  to  the 
bright  gallery. 

With  his  imperious  instinct  to  have  his  way,  he 
sprang  to  stop  her;  but  she  was  running  outright 
around  the  curve  of  the  gallery.  He  could  have 
caught  up  with  her,  doubtless,  by  putting  forth  his 
athletic  agility;  but,  having  their  last  race  in  memory, 
he  was  held  back  by  shame  at  being  seen  behaving  like 
an  idiot  for  the  second  time  before  the  same  ironical 
audience.  He  repented  an  instant  later,  and  started, 
after  all ;  but,  seeing  her  descend  to  the  floor,  he  again 
lost  impetus  and  stood  still,  watching  her  as  she 
rushed — under  the  impression,  apparently,  that  he 
was  at  her  heels. 

She  looked  rather  silly,  he  thought,  fleeing  unpur- 
sued,  and  wondered  how  soon  she  would  discover  her 
mistake  and  let  up  and  blush  for  herself.  At  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  he  thought,  she  surely  would  look 
back. 


ti  MISS   [N6ALIS 

did     by  .1  swift,  birdlike  turn  of  her  head  «»■■ 
Ikt  Bhoulder;  her  glance  swept  round  till  it  Located 
him,  standing  Btill,  hands  In   pockets,  savagely  dis- 
dainful witness  of  her  futility. 

He  thought  she  would  then  have  Btopped  short, 
laughed,  gol  her  breath,  and,  to  Lend  herself  counte- 
nance, done  Borne  Bueh  girlish  thing  as  hide  her  face  in 
the  bowl  of  roses  on  the  piai  p  the 

pile  of  music,  pretending  to  1<  r  a  fav< 

Bui   -        continued,  mi  ly  n<  :  d  liber- 

ty in  her  •  □  nna  iff 

I [er  l  tck,  the  tilt  of  her  he  she 

passed  to  om  1  thr     '    I  1  er 

id  tin'  chair         up<-<i  aboul   I 
I  a  looh  ••svfui  contumacy  which  called  forth 

the  response  in  him  of  a  thrill  <>f  6re  spreading  to 

thr    end  Tv.  Is,  <1     in 

what         ptten  pi  memory,  leaped  from 

ag  after  her,  already  in  ti.    dark  <>ut- 


w 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

HEN  out  of  sight  of  the  loungers  near  the 
door,  Grace  ran — along  the  side  of  the 
house,  along  the  front,  through  the  iron 
gate,  wide  open  for  guests,  down  the  street  to  the 
corner,  around  the  corner — 

There  her  hand  was  drawn  through  an  arm,  which 
tended  to  check  her  speed. 

"Oh,  hurry,  hurry!"  she  whispered,  and  tried  to 
drag  the  arm  along. 

'Please  not  to  be  afraid.     Please  believe  you  are 
safe, ' '  said  the  looming  man,  the  owner  of  the  arm. 

At  the  affrighted  "Oh!  Oh!"  which  she  uttered 
in  dismay  over  his  lack  of  comprehension,  he  con- 
sented, however,  to  hasten,  but  with  a  quiet  steadi- 
ness. 

They  had  only  the  length  of  the  Overcome  wall  to 
go  to  reach  the  alley  behind  the  line  of  low  buildings 
bounding  the  Overcome  yard.  There  stood  a  closed 
carriage  with  its  waiting  horses  and  driver.  In  a 
second  she  was  inside  of  it ;  in  another  second  he  was 
beside  her;  the  horses  started  up  and  off  at  such 
good  convenient  speed  as  can  be  wrung  from  estimable 
hackneys. 

299 


00  MISS   [NG  \l  [S 

'Am    I    in   timel     Oughts        ughtn't   we  to  «ro 
fa  <  taghl  n  *i  the  i  gallop  .'"  Bhe  whis- 

pered. 

1  We  have  abundant         time,"  he  Baid. 

si,  head  between  her  hands,  and  there  v. 

silence  in  thi        ih,  parallel,  as  il  were,  to  the  clatter 
«>t*  i 

*  I  \  ;   >u  would  be  there,"  she  said.     By  this 

time  the  red  mansion  in  the  midsl  of  its  black  rail- 
ings 'mI  blocks  behind.    '*I  was  perfectly — 
.Oh,  thank  <  tod  thai  you  were  ther 
He  slight  sign  in  the  semi-darkness.     He 

I,  appropr         thing  -the 

.  too  charged  with  won- 
der. 

'It  from  your  saying  at  tl     end  of  your 

jrent  on.    "I 
know  it  ia  .iiou  foi  the  cl<         f  a  letl 

I  i   it  as  it"  you   ha<l   been   the  one  to 

write  it  for  th(       i(   '         and  had  sincerely  meant 
it." 
*•  It  was  sino  i    " 

•■That,  perhi        is  why  I  believed  it.     I  could nM 
11   in   my  letter  explain   the  situation    from 

i  *  i 

wiii  ii  I  felt  I  had  to  escape,  but  — " 
"Y    .     Id  mi       I  i        ded  to  bnom 
'  I— I  can't  talk  about  anything  \<-vy  well  at  this 
it.     1  ;  ••■!  b  ■  in  a  dream.     I  feel  as  if 

being  here  could  n't  be  real 


MISS  INGALIS  301 

Again  she  clasped  her  head,  and  breathed  hur- 
riedly, tremulously.  Of  a  sudden  her  breath  stopped. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  heard  Red  Overcome  calling : 
1 '  Grace  !  Grace ! ' '  Mercy  of  Heaven !  Could  he — 
could  he,  by  some  inconceivable  power  of  black  magic, 
be  really  following  them?  Nothing  was  impossible 
with  Red — terrible  Red ! 

No,  no.  They  were  half  a  mile  away  already;  he 
was  out  in  the  dark  yard,  searching  for  her  under  the 
elm,  in  the  corners,  and  she  got  the  reverberation  of 
him  somehow,  calling  in  a  subdued,  troubled  voice: 
' Grace !  Grace !"  It  was  as  clear  as  if  she  had  been 
there,  recoiling  from  his  groping  hands. 

''Had  you  not  better  put  on  this  cloak  and  hat?' 
asked  Andreas  Dane,  in  the  harder,  clearer  voice  of 
the  actual  world.  He  shook  out  a  mantle — the  blue 
of  the  Madonna's  mantle,  silken,  fragrant,  that  made 
lines  and  folds  fit  to  please  an  artist.  He  held  it  for 
her  arms.  He  tendered  a  hat  fit  to  charm  a  poet — 
a  hat  that  was  as  much  a  hat  as  Mercury's,  with 
shading  brim  and  sweeping  plume.  He  had  remem- 
bered even  the  hat-pins. 

She  had  not  the  quiet  of  mind  to  observe  any  of 
this  rightly.  Wrapped  in  her  blue  mantle,  crowned 
with  her  plumed  hat,  she  continued  to  be  lost  among 
crowding  preoccupations. 

"After  I  get  to  my  sister's  I  will  write  you.  I 
will  also  send  you  money,  and  when  you  have  the 
brooch  back,  this  is  what  you  must  do.     You  see," — 


8<  MISS   [NGALIS 

she  Bmiled  with  a  wan  Bparkle,-  "you  see,  I  am  still 

ring   Literally   thai   unwary         on   I        immand.' 

\'<i)\   must   do   tli         \ .-.   ry  day   there  I  he 

Jock  mass  in  tl.    I    tholic  cathedral  a  lady 

in  black,  rather  plump  and  not  very  tall  -yon  will 

kn«»w  her  by  her  hair,  which  is  snow-white  without 

her  being  very  old,  and  by  her  dark  •        with  black 

ebrows,   and    bei       id    look.     She    wears    a    Bilver 

crucifix;   Bhe    is    foreign.     Ask  if   sh< 

I  tolores  (  h  ei  ;     ive  the  ;       ih  to  her,  to  be 

.  en    to    Miss    Marinda,  ill    und 

I  •         mmand,    M        Lngali       Y  mnol 

ugh  1  that  I  ai  nd." 

Oh,  i-l  unthinl. 

try  |  :'.      \ 

could   h(  ar   Efc  I   '  i  voice,  a.  litl 

louder  and  much  m< 
She  could  Bee  him    t  the  fart  vard, 

ing  th<  ad  ahutt  teri 

blindly  i  i       would  have  thorn/ 

might  find  her  tl  all,  from  thr  way  b 

'    iii  winced.  .  .  . 
I  tut  all  tl.  r. 

"  When  I  have  n  -. "  sh<         I,  "  I 

will  writ.'  vmi.     Then  also  1  will  try  I     "hank  you. 

i  must  forgive  me  if  I  don't  •  |  now.    I  can't 

D    think   at    this   moment.      But    that    I    can    never 
thank  you  sufficiently,  I  know  only  too  welL 


•  ■ 


MISS  INGALIS  303 

"Miss  Ingalis,  there  is  oue  way  to  pay  me — just 
one.  It  is  to  believe  absolutely  in  the  truth  of  'Yours 
to  command,'  and  count  upon  it  accordingly." 

"Oh,  how  kind  of  3'ou,  how  kind!"  she  said,  but 
still  perfunctorily;  then  added,  aware  of  her  inade- 
quacy: "But  it  makes  it  less  possible  than  ever  to 
thank  you  enough."  And  again  she  closed  her  eyes 
in  the  effort  to  get  a  grasp  on  realities.  .  .  .  She  saw 
Red  Overcome  coming  indoors ;  then  passing,  pale  and 
unheeding,  through  the  mirthful  crowd,  seeking 
Theresa  and  whispering  to  her.  Theresa  looked  up, 
startled,  rose,  and  followed  him  apart.  Theresa  said, 
after  his  communication :  ' '  She  must  have  come  in 
by  the  other  door.  I  11  run  upstairs  and  see  if  she  's 
in  her  room. ' ' 

Grace  looked  up.  "I  must  write  a  telegram  be- 
fore I  leave,  and  have  it  ready,  so  that  at  the  first 
stop  I  can  send  it  back  to  let  them  know  I  am  safe,  or 
they  might  spend  the  night  searching  for  me. ' 

After  that  there  was  a  long  silence,  while  houses 
and  street-lamps  hurried  past,  and  now  and  then  a 
late  lighted  shop-window  with  wares  immensely  en- 
hanced in  brightness.  It  did  not  seem  to  him  the  hour 
for  offering  talk  without  any  reason  but  good  society's 
abhorrence  of  silence — which  is  not  to  say  that  he 
spent  the  interval  in  strict  dumbness. 

"Miss  Ingalis,"  he  said,  "you  have  spoken  of 
thanking  me !  How  shall  I  thank  you  ?  I  was  an 
ordinary  man,  a  dejected  artist.     In  the  twinkling  of 


804  MISS   [NGALIS 

an  eye  you  made  of  me  a  knight  errant,  with  the 
attendant  glory  and  dedication.     You  Lifted  me  into 

\\ ith  a  prL  to  rescue  from  dragons. 
1  rose  to  «il tit-.  of  capacity  and  ton  I  be<  ame  on- 
believably  quick,   resolui  tuaL     I    i         I    this 

moment  of  b  stiny  and  conquer  any 

world.  All  shall  go  well,  now  and  after,  because  I 
am  superhumanly  determined.  Four  colon  are 
pinned  to  my  helmet  I  have  had  a  chance  to  s.-rvr 
you.  Fou  called  on  me  and  do1  another.  And  if 
this  should  be  mj  one  hour  of  glorified  life,  it'  this 
should  be  an  episode  and  doI  b  beginning,  all  tin1 
t  will  d<  o  much  to  paj  for  it  ' 

■  1   rumbled  ou ; 
the  hoof  ■  in  their  moderate,  rhyth- 

mical   way;    and    G  looking   OUt    of    the    window. 

tri  ni  ion  to  the  landmai   b,  pi  isfc 

ing    to    know    how  •   she    was   to    her   destina- 

tion. i  wh;  aid  oothing  in  reply 

Andreas  i        'a  lyrical  addres       la  thai  he  had  not 
Bpoken   aloud   the   things  aboi        entioned,  or  even 

him-'  If  as  clearly  aa  they  are  here 
down:  they  were  the  Bong  of  his  heart-beats.    Gra 

-but  she  did  from  his  aeighbor- 

.  derive  more  and  more  a  Ben  tfety;  Bhe 

i  lually  under  the  Bpell  of  qui< 

Wh(  d   l  t   feet   v  rth  again, 

he  was   in   the   lighted   station,   amid   people 

ha  on  their  varioii  i,  with  all  the  - 


MISS  INGALIS  305 

around  her  of  practical  things, — the  big  clock,  the 
porters,  the  ticket-windows, — it  was  the  things  of  an 
hour  ago  that  suddenly  seemed  unreal  and  like  the 
delusions  of  a  dream. 

Of  all  surrounding  her,  nothing  was  so  solidly 
real  as  her  stalwart  friend,  with  the  face — as  it  was 
now  seen  in  the  light — so  well  remembered,  with  its 
look  of  fine  sanity,  ability,  reliability,  combined  with 
that  modesty  which  made  him  a  little  awkward,  while 
the  attempt  to  overcome  his  awkwardness  made  him 
a  little  stiff. 

She  ceased  to  be  either  afraid  or  in  a  hurry. 

He  led  her  toward  a  little  woman  in  her  best  dress 
and  bonnet,  who  had  been  on  the  watch  for  them  and 
at  once  hastened  forward. 

"I  have  them  in  my  hand!"  she  said  with  anxious 
haste:  "the  tickets,  the  berth  reservations.  And  in 
this  bag  all  the  things  we  shall  need." 

This  is  my  mother,  Miss  Ingalis, "  said  Andreas, 

who  is  going  with  you  as  far  as  you  go,  to  take 
care  of  you." 

He  rewarded  the  sweet-faced,  care-worn,  slightly 
flustered  little  woman,  whom  with  a  darling  son's 
high-handedness  he  had  impressed  into  service,  by  a 
richly  appreciative  look  and  the  open  praise  that 
pleased  her  while  she  blushed  for  it.  "She  has  only 
one  son,  but  she  has  a  heart  big  enough  for  a  dozen. ' ' 

Not  to  have  the  dreaded  difficulties  of  travel  to 
meet  alone!     The  tension  of  Grace's  nerves  was  so 


tt 


806  MISS  [NG  m  is 

J  thai  lt  i  - «- » r  i  t  1 1  *  1 1  •  for  the  relief  nay,  for  the  im- 
mensity I  these  two  people  were  doing  her — 
■  e  like  a  warm  wave  and  made  her  heart  brim  over. 
She  followed  her  impulse  to  take  the  little  mother *i 
band  and  clasp  it  tightly;  then,  driven  to  farther 
demonstrations  by  the  urgenc;  eling,  she  kissed 
the  little  mother-  oowise  Like  rtowing  a 
gleaming  order  of  chivalry,  bul  like  a  child  thanking 
with  its          Bimple  body  for  the  comforl  received* 

These  two,  with  their-— thank   God!     doI   too  un- 
common   air   of   customary    truthfulness,    trustin< 
moral  worth,  filled  ber  with  the  >f  having 

*  hou  Thi  it  not 

almost  too  g        to  be  true  the  usual,  the 

normal   thing:   that   human   being  Id   aid   i 

*  one        ■  her,  should  -  the  truth  ;  thi 

ami  ool  black  villainy]  1  returned  to  b  world 

where    she    could    once    an        bn 
grasped  momenl  with  appropriate  triumph  and 

gladness  tl         :ompl 

Traveler*      itching  the  midnight   train  saw  walk- 
ing down  the  railway  platform  •  E  three  who 
had   nothing   striking  about    them,   i  perhaps, 
its  very  beauty,  t;                f  the  mantle  worn  by 
thf  alend        :'i  going  between  t1       ray-haired  woman 

and  the  young  man  with  t  £.  ,t  if  any  among 

them  had  been  gifted  with  an  i  ial  kind  of  sight, 
ho  would  hav(  □  that  the  girl  in  the  blue  mantle 
was   carrying   out    of   the   conflict    Bomething   like   a 


MISS  INGALIS  307 

chalice,  borne  as  high  as  her  arms  could  lift  it,  to  keep 
it  safe  from  the  jostlings  and  the  dangers;  and  in  the 
chalice  something  comparable  to  a  precious  liquid — 
her  inviolate  soul. 


THE   END 


Other  Novels  by  Gertrude  Hall 


AURORA  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

A  wholesome  and  altogether  enjoyable  love  story,  with  a  mellowness 
and  an  easy  distinction  that  cannot  be  claimed  by  a  great  many  modern 
novels.  It  is  the  sort  of  story  that  used  to  be  read  aloud  to  the  family 
circle ;  it  is  a  novel  that  can  pass  that  healthy  test  with  unusual  credit  to 
the  author. 

"Aurora  the  Magnificent"  is  the  story  of  a  Cape  Cod  woman  set  down 
in  the  sophisticated  Anglo-American  colony  of  Florence — a  woman  whose 
robust  character  is  a  substantial  delight.  The  novel  tells  of  her  triumph 
over  the  machinations  of  the  jealous  Florentines  and  over  the  super- 
civilized  sophistication  of  Gerald  Fane.  It  is  a  tale  of  people  worth  know- 
ing, in  an  environment  worth  being  taken  to  for  a  visit,  an  environment, 
by  the  way,  intimately  known  to  and  loved  by  the  author. 

Eigkt  Illustrations  by  Gerald  Leake,     Price  $1,40 

THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  CAMILLA 

Out  of  the  ordinary  in  fiction  is  this  story  of  a  fascinating  Italian 
adventuress — fascinating  rather  than  beautiful,  gifted,  unscrupulous,  of 
extraordinary    character    and    career. 

She  is  the  daughter  of  a  peasant  woman  and  a  nobleman,  educated 
by  her  unacknowledged  father,  then  left  to  shift  for  herself.  She  is  by 
nature  a  consummate  and  dramatic  actress  and  fabricator,  but  with  a 
power  that  brings  all  men  and  most  women  under  the  spell  of  her  gifts ; 
and  the  days  which  make  her  in  turn  paid  companion  to  a  famous  literary 
woman,  a  princess,  the  wife  of  an  opera  singer,  a  lace-maker,  and,  finally, 
a  deeply  religious  marchioness,  are  crowded  with  color  and  adventure. 

The  Italian  background  and  character,  the  conception  and  portrayal  of 
Camilla  are  delightfully  done. 

Frontispiece  by  W.  B.  King.     Price  $1.30 


At  All  Bookstores    TOC    PFISITITRY    CC\      353  Fourth  Avenue 
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MISS  MINK'S  SOLDIER 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 
By  Alice  Hegan  Rice 

Author  of  "Mrs.    Wiggs  of  Cabbage  Patch,  n  etc. 

Thi  .bining    all    -  qualities    of 

autl  cli  ha 

"Mrs.  \Y  iny  million  r<  in  all  parts  of  tin-  world     The 

literar  illy  a; 

tin-  American  reader,  and  i:  en 

"Mrs.  \\ 

A  ;  |  author  much  more  varied 

portunil  :ng  her  rea  .an  docs  a  no\ 

author  ma  n  the  comic 

to  the  tr  the  r  crcnt  settings  of  place  and  time, 

ma  i  of  01  hat    feeling  cd 

•    the    cor  11-turncd 

whole,   which   comes   to  the   reader   with   the  good    story 

;>crtly  told. 

Thi-  Mink'* 

Soldier.'  her  si. 

12 mo,  221  pages.     Frontispiece  by  Walter  Biggs 

Price  $1.25 

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Published  by      Hill    VLlllUlvI      \A).  New  York  City 


THE  FIREFLY 
OF  FRANCE 

By  Marion  Polk  Angellotti 

This  is  not  a  story  of  laughter  or  tears,  of  shock  or  depression.  It  has 
no  manufactured  gloom.  It  preaches  no  reform.  It  has  not  a  single  social 
problem  around  which  the  characters  move  and  argue  and  agonize.  No 
reader  need  lie  awake  at  night  wondering  what  the  author  meant;  all  she 
intends  to  convey  goes  over  the  top  with  the  first  sight  of  the  printed 
words.  The  story  invites  the  reader  to  be  thrilled,  and  dares  him  (or  her) 
to  weep. 

Briefly,  "The  Firefly  of  France"  is  in  the  manner  of  the  romance — in 
the  manner  of  Dumas,  of  Walter  Scott.  It  is  a  story  of  love,  mystery, 
danger,  and  daring.  It  opens  in  the  gorgeous  St.  Ives  Hotel  in  New  York 
and  ends  behind  the  Allied  lines  in  France.  The  story  gets  on  its  way  on 
the  first  page,  and  the  interest  is  continuous  and  increasing  until  the  last 
page.   And  it  is  all  beautifully  done. 

The  Philadelphia  Record  says:  "No  more  absorbing  romance  of  the 
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taneous way  the  author  tells  a  story  that  is  pregnant  with  the  heroic  spirit 
of  the  day.  There  is  a  blending  of  mystery,  adventure,  love  and  high 
endeavor  that  will  charm  every  reader." 

12mo,  363  pages 

Illustrated  by  Grant  T.  Reynard 

Price  $1.40 

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FILM  FOLK 

"Close-ups"  of  the  Men,  Women  and  Chil- 
dren who  make  the  "Movies." 

By  Rob  Wagner 

a  humor  an<l  entertain  It  is  a  tort  of  Ln<;  Angel 

rbury  when  I  in  ti      first  pcr^ 

the  child 
the 
numl  the 

•c. 

All   the  tion   more 

dcr  iicr   section 

rth.    '!  tad  with 

arc 
cnt 

"Film  individual! ;  the 

•he  other  char- 

ire  ni  ;aking 

of 
-manners  a:  toms  unique  in 

The  he  author  is  good- 

humor 

8vo,  356  pages 

Illustrated  from  photographs 

Price  $2.00 

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Published  by      *  nJD    VXll  1  UlV  I      \AJ.  New  York  City 


»r   OALDBi 


KEL1 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 

STAMPED  BELOW 

••  are  e 
60« 

be  Mxth  day.      Book* 
aj  be  '  ore 

loan    i 


SEP  2d  1930 


50m  7."29 


IB  32251 


394 


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